


Yet Still Steadfast, Still Unchangeable

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Avengers Vol. 1 (1963), BDSM, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual Kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dom Tony, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Edgeplay, Endearments, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Feminizing Language, Fluff and Smut, Impact Play (happens offscreen), Kneeling, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Mild humiliation kink, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pain Kink, Painplay, Praise Kink, Showers, Soft and Fluffy Kink, Sub Steve, Sub Steve Rogers, Subspace, Top Tony, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 17:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “Anything you want,” Steve said, dreamily, still smiling up at him.  Tony was the best thing, he thought.  The best, most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.  “Anything at all.”Steve submits for Tony.  It's everything he's been wanting and then some.





	Yet Still Steadfast, Still Unchangeable

**Author's Note:**

> Assume Steve and Tony got together sometime after the drinking arc, when Tony was on the West Coast Avengers.
> 
> The title is from the sonnet "Bright Star" by John Keats.
> 
>  _Bright Star_  
>  Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art—  
> Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night  
> And watching, with eternal lids apart,  
> Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,  
> The moving waters at their priestlike task  
> Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,  
> Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask  
> Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—  
> No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,  
> Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,  
> To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,  
> Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,  
> Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,  
> And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

“Hey, honey, hey, look at me, huh?” Gentle but insistent fingers on his jaw, tilting his head up. Tony’s voice was demanding, pushing into Steve’s consciousness, sweeping over his skin like a prickling touch. Steve blinked stars out of his vision, took a breath. “How are you feeling?” Tony asked. His eyes were soft, deep blue like the ocean, but safe and warm, not like drowning, not like ice. He was smiling down at Steve, and it was crooked, sweet, so sweet it made Steve’s stomach clench and twist tight with feeling, something in his chest twinge and throb, even on top of how it felt to be kneeling naked at Tony’s feet, Tony still fully dressed, or nearly, looking only a little rumpled in his waistcoat and rolled up shirtsleeves, even if Tony’s fingers were sweaty and damp on Steve’s sweaty skin, just as hot as Steve’s flush.  He hadn’t even taken off his expensive polished shoes.

Hot, Steve decided.  He felt . . . hot.  His head felt hot; his skin prickled.  It seemed to take him a long time to come to that conclusion.  He could feel his nipples throbbing, his cock, the raw, marked skin over his shoulders, over his rear end.  “Hot,” he managed to slur out.

Tony smiled, and his thumb rubbed gently down along Steve’s jaw.  “Yes, you are,” he purred, and Steve felt himself flush even deeper, because it was clear that Tony had meant that as a compliment.  He looked down, feeling his face go even darker red, knowing the deepening flush was spreading all over his body.  “Aw, honey, you are,” Tony said, hands falling to Steve’s shoulders, thumbs digging in against tight muscles, warm palms smoothing out knots, hot and prickling over the stinging marks Tony had already left on Steve’s shoulders.  Steve moaned, felt his head tip forward and bob loosely on his neck, dangling between them, felt his mouth go wet and soft and felt embarrassment, self-consciousness, prickle over him again, but couldn’t stop.  “You’re so hot I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

A firm, callused palm cupped his cheek, and Steve gave a heavy breath through his mouth, a dizzy, needy puff of air.  Tony was there kneeling in front of him a moment later, his palm sliding gently along Steve’s shoulder, cupping it where it was raw, then both hands dropping to Steve’s knees, sliding up along Steve’s thighs.  He shivered.  He could feel his cock jerk, bobbing wet and needy between them, precome dripping off of it to splat on the floor, just at feeling Tony’s thumbs traveling up the insides of his thighs, warm and knowing.  He wanted to be good, but even with that he could feel the muscles in his arms, in his shoulders, bunching and straining as he pulled at the titanium magnetic cuffs thick and heavy around his wrists.  He was so grateful that Tony had made them so strong, so strong that even if he was disobedient and bad and let himself pull he wouldn’t break them, they wouldn’t come loose.

“Tony,” he heard himself moan.  He rocked in his hips despite himself and his cock swayed between them, up and down, came up and hit his belly with a wet noise that made him flush.  It _ached_ , throbbing and prickling, desperate for some kind of attention, pressure, or friction, or anything, but Tony hadn’t been touching him at all, had used Steve’s sensitivity—in his nipples, in his rear—to get him off three times already.  His cock felt wet and sticky and aching, and it _throbbed_.  His hole prickled and stung sweetly, neglected now, but still worked open and relaxed, butter-soft from Tony’s sweet, insistent fingers and wet with lube.  He felt so wet, smeared and sticky.  The head of his cock throbbed with every breath, every beat of his heart, feeling hot and raw, aching and flushed, even though no one had so much as touched it, not him, not Tony.  His whole body was . . . warm, felt like it was glowing all over from the oil Tony had rubbed on him, inside him, keeping him tingling, making him feel warm from the inside out, radiating into him, flushing him hot, making the sore places, the melts and marks Tony had left him over his back and thighs, prickle and tingle and warm with the kind of hot, tickling sting that kept Steve aware of them, reveling in them, in the marks Tony had left.

“That’s me, big fella, I gotcha, I’m right here,” Tony murmured against his temple, mouth soft and wet and warm, and Steve shuddered down to his toes.  Tony squeezed his thighs, kissed his cheek, his shoulder, and Steve felt so . . . hot, he was floating, Tony was right there, and he was, he was safe, he felt so good.  Tony’s hands were grounding, firm and callused on his thighs.  His head felt loose on his neck, lolled against Tony’s shoulder.  One of Tony’s hands came up, squeezed at the back of Steve’s neck, holding his head, stroking through his short hair, but the other stayed, firm and grounding, on his thigh.  “Now how are you feeling, honey pie?”

Honey pie, Steve thought, dazed and slow, a little disbelieving.  Growing up on the Lower East Side had he ever even dreamed anyone would call him that, even a little bit seriously?  He felt a little giddy.

“Good?” Tony asked.  “Bad?  Indifferent?  Green, yellow, red?”

Colors.  The colors meant things.  Colors were how he got Tony to keep going.  Green.  That was the good one, the one he wanted.  “Green,” Steve managed to moan, because that was the one for Tony, don’t stop, please, I feel so good, and that was what he would have said if his mouth wanted to form words that weren’t _Tony_.

“Yeah?” Tony asked.  His fingers curled lightly in Steve’s hair, tugged.  Steve felt his mouth shift along Tony’s shoulder, wet and smearing against cloth.  “Green, sugarmuffin?  Good?  You feel good?”

“Mmm,” Steve said, and pressed his hot cheek close against Tony’s shoulder, against his warmth.  “Real, real good.”

“Your back feels all right?”  Tony’s hand on his thigh skimmed up, over the raw, marked, stinging skin of Steve’s rear, and pinched lightly, making Steve gasp, arch up with a hot, hard breath, bite his bottom lip.  “Your poor little peach of an ass?”

“Feels _good_ ,” Steve said insistently, searching out Tony’s face and blinking until his eyes were clear, fixing them on Tony’s.  His tongue felt thick and his lips slow and stupid, but he didn’t want Tony feeling any doubt, wondering at all, about how much he had enjoyed it.  It barely even hurt, and the way it did, the sting, the sensitivity, it was _good_ pain, tingling and hot, lingering in his skin, on the edge of pleasure until he couldn’t quite tell the difference.  Tony had given it to him perfectly, laid down marks until they formed crosshatching, little squares all over his rear, that Steve could still feel hot and stinging and swollen.  He suddenly wanted Tony to rub his rear more, to make it hurt more, to tug and pinch and massage his marked cheeks.

It was as if Tony read his mind, the way he started to stroke over the rounded curve of Steve’s rear (nothing like as lush as Tony’s, he thought, but at least the serum had given him a little bit of curve for Tony to squeeze and mark and smack) until his hot backside was stinging, then pinched again, tugged at the hot, sore, sensitive flesh, until Steve was gasping, quivering until his cock swung in midair.

“Damn, I wonder if you could get off like this,” Tony murmured.  “Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” he added, as Steve practically sobbed out a breath, pushed back into his glorious, painfully squeezing hand.  “Just me massaging and pinching your pretty, marked up ass.  Here, lean on me, _sweetcheeks_.”  The emphasis on that made Steve flush, made awareness curl hot and tight in his belly, made him gasp and his cock jerk.  He leaned in, just like Tony said, and Tony petted his neck, squeezed gently, then slid his hand down Steve’s sore back, leaving him flinching and hot, his cock drooling with need with every touch, jerking every time Tony’s hand skimmed over a welt, to grip Steve’s other cheek in his other hand.  He squeezed so hard that Steve cried out, felt a hot wash of pleasure, welling up hot and hard in his cock, felt it jerking, the head prickling hot with need and pleasure, precome dripping from him like a faucet, and whimpered, because he _had_ , he had been close just then, just from Tony squeezing his sore, marked backside, the way Tony’s warm, firm, strong hands felt over the tingling marks, the sensitive, swollen skin, the heat the oil had left radiant in his muscles and under his skin, shimmering along the top of it.  “That’s it,” Tony purred into his ear, “ _that’s_ it, sweetie pie.”

He squeezed Steve’s rear again, massaging firmly, almost roughly, the pain-pleasure of it kicking Steve up again into someplace even warmer, even _hotter_ , where all he could do was gasp and moan and pant against Tony’s skin, rolling his hips helplessly as his cock jerked and pain washed through him beautifully, pleasurably, like fire from his buttocks.  He was so, so close to coming, his cock throbbing, could feel his balls hot and hard and high and tight, tightening every time Tony pinched his rear or slapped it lightly.  Tony ignored Steve’s hole just as much as he did his cock, but Steve could still _feel_ it, wet and sensitized and trembling, every time Tony slapped Steve’s sore, hot buttocks and made him clench down instinctively.

Steve wasn’t exactly surprised when Tony pulled his hands away, one cupping Steve’s hip, the other going back to the back of his neck as he pressed a kiss against his temple, another against his hairline, mere seconds before he was convinced he could have worked his hips just enough to come, the hot tight tension just beneath the head of his cock winding up, he was almost there—and then Tony was petting his neck, rubbing one hot palm against his hip, shushing him softly as Steve gave a wretched gasp that was almost tears and slumped against him; not exactly surprised, no, but it didn’t stop the desperate gasp, the feeling of utter betrayal that washed through him just for a second—or the way his cock throbbed even more hotly, heat twisting in his belly at the denial, a moment later.  He hated the feeling of being denied, of pulling back from the brink, unable to get there, his body so ready to tip over the peak but unable to, like he was sliding back down the side of a mountain he’d almost climbed, he _hated_ it—but that was what made it all the better when Tony denied him, didn’t let him come, pulled Steve back from even his easy orgasms and made him wait and struggle all the harder.  Tony was no sadist, not in the way Steve was a masochist, he didn’t get off on giving it to Steve, seeing him cry out and twist and sob with pain, but when it came to denying his pleasure, controlling the way Steve got to come, how and when, he was gloriously, perfectly sadistic.  Steve couldn’t have been more grateful.  The gratitude, the way his cock burned with denied pleasure, swept over him in waves, leaving him practically sobbing it out into Tony’s shoulder, the emotion, the release of _not_ releasing because Tony hadn’t let him yet, until his bound hands were twitching into fists and his shoulders were quivering, shaking, against Tony’s.

“Yeah, you could have come, no problem,” Tony said against his temple, sounding pleased as his fingers carded through Steve’s hair, held his head close to his shoulder.  “You were right there, weren’t you?  Right there, right on the edge, just from that, just from having your sore little ass massaged and pinched and tortured, huh?  I’ll remember that for next time.  My big, sweet, needy pain slut, aren’t you, big boy?”

“Sir,” Steve managed, breathily, his voice sounding choked and wet despite the wispy breathy quality it had acquired somewhere, an acknowledgment of what he was saying even as he trembled down to his toes with the knowledge of it, wanted to moan.  _Big sweet needy pain slut._  Tony’s words echoed in his ears, made his cock throb and jerk all over again, made him ache all the way down to his toes.

“I know,” Tony murmured.  “I know you are.”

Steve nodded shakily.  Tony’s fingers stroked through his hair again, then gripped it firmly, pulling tight as he rocked back up to his feet, tugging Steve’s head back just a touch until he was looking dizzily up at Tony again.  Just being put in that position made heat swoop in Steve’s belly and pull tight, made his cock jerk and throb.  Tony pulled his head back a little more, braced himself with both arms on Steve’s raw, tender shoulders, sending a shivery burst of sensation all the way down Steve’s spine to his cock, making him gasp.  Tony was grinning down at him, bit his bottom lip, then licked at it in a movement that set even more heat twining in Steve’s belly, then, before Steve could even so much as think about what he might be about to do next, he slid his beautiful dress shoe—black Oxfords, calfskin leather that felt cool against Steve’s skin—up along the inside of his thigh, pressed it under Steve’s cock and tilted it up until the sole was resting against the base of him, against his balls, and Steve was panting, gasping just at the sensation, the promise in it, the heat that had prickling at the back of his neck, in his stomach, in his balls and cock themselves.  Sweat trickled down the side of his face, he could feel it, down the back of his neck.

Tony let him wait for it for a moment, working himself up, smiling down at him the whole while, twining his fingers in the short hair at the back of Steve’s neck, before he gave Steve’s hard cock a little flick with his shoe, one that set it slapping hard against Steve’s pelvis, a quick sharp bite of pain that had him sucking his breath and shivering, squirming, helplessly in Tony’s hold, under Tony.

“Look at you leak, honey,” Tony murmured, warm and knowing.  He stroked his shoe up along Steve’s cock, pushed the sole against the wet, leaking, weepy tip of his cock, let it smear up and down the rough treads until Steve was whimpering, sucking at his own lips, his teeth, to keep himself from drooling helplessly, the only thing he could do, unable to wipe his mouth.

Tony pressed lightly, and Steve felt dizzy, barely recognized the high whine that came out of his mouth.  It struck him that this was the most attention Tony had paid to his cock this entire time, ever since Steve had first gotten undressed, and his cock throbbed desperately as a heavy, needy noise escaped him quick on the heels of the first one.

“I know what you want,” Tony said softly.  “Yeah?”  Another little bit of pressure, sending pain shooting from that oh-so-sensitive skin and flesh to every part of Steve’s body.  “You want me to step on you.  You want me to hurt you.  Give this big gorgeous cock a nice little kick, huh?”

Steve didn’t trust himself to speak.  He was sweating.  He just nodded, looking up at Tony and hoping that he could see how much he wanted it.

Tony circled the tip of his shoe around Steve’s cockhead, once, twice, then he got the sole up over it and pushed down, pressing Steve’s hot, achingly flushed cock, already painfully hard and wet, down against the floor.  He wasn’t even pressing down that hard, but as Steve’s sensitive tip hit the floor and rolled against it, then the rest of his cock followed, with that gentle insistent pressure, the pain that sparked through Steve had him giving a choked noise as overwhelmed tears of sensation sprang up to prickle in his eyes.  Tony flexed his foot over Steve’s cock, pressed down a little more, and the pain tore through him like a hot glorious wave, making Steve go cold all over, then hot, sweat springing up, and pleasure pounding impossibly deep and hard all through him, tugging behind his navel, in his brain.  He heard himself give a rough cry, full-voiced and low, torn right out of him, felt his head loll back heavily against Tony’s steadying hands. 

“That’s it,” Tony murmured.  “Good boy, that’s a good boy.  Yeah, you like that, huh?  You’ve been so desperate for attention to that big needy cock.  Am I right?  You’d take anything, big boy, wouldn’t you?”

Steve groaned, felt it gurgle in his throat at the angle Tony was holding his head, as Tony flexed his foot again, pressed down a little harder, and pain and pleasure swept through Steve’s body all over again, turning him hot with it, hot from the inside out, red hot.  “Yes, sir,” he breathed, and he could hear the way Tony sucked in his breath, felt the way Tony’s fingers tightened in his hair, against his neck and jaw.  He thought about Tony’s expensive shoes, glanced down to see that expensive black leather shoe smeared with his own fluid, the sole pressed down against the messy hot flushed length of his cock, obscene and huge and purple-red where blood was surging against the thin tissues, messy and wet against the floor, and another desperate whimpering noise tore out of him, his hands clenching helplessly as his stomach pulled tied with desire, with need, just at the sight of it, at his hot, leaking mess contrasted to Tony’s cool elegance.  He felt hot and big, overlarge and ungainly and helpless and messy while Tony was all cool competence and control, standing over him.  He felt helpless, entirely in Tony’s hands.  He knew he was drooling now and couldn’t seem to help it.  His mouth felt very wet.

Tony ground his heel down lightly, tapped his toe against Steve’s base once, twice, and he shivered all over at the sudden shock of adrenaline, of fear, of pain that quickly transmuted pleasure and lit up every nerve in his body until he was prickling and hot all over, alive with vivid sensation just from those little taps.  Tony pressed down again, and Steve gave a strangled noise of pleasure, feeling hot blood flushing to the very tip of his cock, hot with painful pressure as it throbbed under the sole of his foot.  Tears of overwhelming sensation formed in his eyes, and one slipped free, slid down his cheek, leaving a trail that felt shockingly cold against his hot skin.  “Good boy,” Tony breathed.  “You take it so well, baby, so, so well.”  Steve went hot and liquid at the praise, felt something untwist inside of him, because Tony had said he took it well, he thought he took it well.  His thumb circled against Steve’s cheek, brushing away that tear, rubbed gently against his eye, brushing tears away.  Steve knew he’d be holding onto Tony if his hands weren’t bound, would be clinging to his strong forearms or clutching to his hips, curling his fingers clumsily in his belt loops or his waistcoat or his shirt.  As it was, all he could do was sway forward, press his face to his waistcoat, feel the fine weave of it against his hot face.

Tony’s fingers petted through his hair.  “You could come just from this,” he murmured softly, nudging gently at the base of Steve’s cock with his foot, and Steve nodded, moaning into his waistcoat, even as Tony moved his foot off his cock, slid it under Steve’s length to nudge gently at his balls, bouncing them and Steve’s cock slightly on the toe, then pushed it back farther, nudged at Steve’s hole, teasing, pushing enough that he gasped, whimpered, feeling very wet, very tender, as Tony rubbed the leather along his lube-wet crease, tapped the toe of his shoe against his sensitive opening.  Steve heard himself gasping, felt his chest heaving. 

“Yes, yes, sir,” he panted, and his eyes still felt wet.  Tony hummed, pulled his foot back and gave Steve a little kick, flicking his cock up so that it smacked against his belly again, and Steve moaned, flinched, startled more than anything by the sudden hot bright pain.  Tony did it again, and the hot little spark of pain it sent through Steve had him messy and leaking a wet little burst of precome all over again.

“But I’ve been neglecting you,” Tony purred.

What?  No!  How could Tony think that he’d neglected Steve at all, he was shivering, floating on the pain-pleasure Tony had already given him, how he’d marked his back and his rear until they were glowing with pleasurable sting, worked him inside until his inner walls felt slick and tender and not quite sore and his cock prickled and ached, raw and hot?  He’d _stepped_ on his _cock_.  He’d always dreamed Tony might do that someday. He moaned, shook his head.

“No, I have, honey,” Tony said, his voice that low, husky, teasing tone that always went straight to Steve’s belly and made his cock stiffen.  “We’ve done your back, now it’s time to do your front.”  His hands smoothed down the front of Steve’s shoulders, circled over his pecs in a long, smooth swirl of his firm, hard palms, calluses catching against Steve’s skin, his nipples, and—oh.  _Oh._   Would Tony mark his chest, his shoulders, like he’d done his back?  Did—did this mean his cock?  More abuse to his cock?  Or did Tony have something else in mind?  Steve’s sore cock jumped, jerking, aching, and he heard the splatter of more of his precome against the floor.  He breathed heavily, excitedly, into Tony’s stomach, shut his eyes against the anticipation.  He felt so soft and slow and floaty, but the anticipation was new and hot, jumping inside him like lightning, like fire.  He knew Tony would probably focus on his—he liked his—his sensitive nipples, the size of him, his—

“Look at these gorgeous tits,” Tony murmured, sliding down in front of Steve to his knees, guiding Steve’s face up to his shoulder, even as his hand went back to his chest, stroking and teasing.  He was there, kneeling in front of Steve, a moment later, squeezing his thumbs tight against Steve’s nipples until his breath creaked out of him on a high-pitched whine that sounded like a door hinge that needed attention.  “Shh, shh, I know, I know,” Tony said in a soothing tone, leaned in and pressed a wet, hot kiss with teeth into Steve’s neck, just beneath his jaw, never letting up the pressure against his nipples, circling his thumbs firmly, until Steve was gasping, jerking his hips, throwing his head back and squirming helplessly.  He could feel his already peaked nipples growing even harder, firmer, under the friction Tony’s thumbs provided, the friction Tony had so far only given his cock with the sole of his shoe, felt his nipples going hot, hot and flushed, even as he found himself pressing his chest up into Tony’s touch, panting, chasing the feeling, every brush of Tony’s thumbs sending referred pleasure down to his dick.  He barely noticed as his cock jerked, sending precome spattering against his inner thighs, the kind of wet and messy that usually embarrassed him, made his cheeks, his chest, his ears, his whole body, burn with humiliation.  “Look at that,” Tony said, “when you flush your areolas go _so_ red, baby.  So, so red.  Like the strawberries on top of your cupcake tits.  Or maybe maraschino cherries.  Prettiest flush I’ve ever seen.”

“Cupcake . . .?” Steve managed, feeling himself go bright red, probably all the way down to his damn toes, which wanted to curl, tucking themselves up against his feet, because of course they did.

Tony’s eyes sparkled wickedly.  “Cupcake,” he said.  A hand skimmed down Steve’s chest, and he moaned, because it was moving away from his nipple, then flushed even hotter.  His fingers curled through the hair leading down to Steve’s cock, in the damp curls just above it, and he made a strangled noise, jerked up, feeling the need ratchet up in him another level.  “Yellow cake, of course,” Tony said, fondly, scratching gently through those curls.  “Look at these blond curls.”  He tugged lightly, then walked his fingers back up, scraping at Steve’s ribs until he was gasping, curling down over Tony’s hand as the other kept tugging at his nipple, circling the sensitive peak with his thumbnail.  “Obviously with strawberries baked inside, too,” he added, sliding teasing fingers under the heaving curve of Steve’s other pectoral, “you’re so _red_ , hon.  And these big, pillowy, whipped cream tits, strawberry pink, until they turn, well, strawberry red.”  Steve bit his lip, flushing hot.  “And we’ve already had a few loads of buttercream.”  Tony waggled his eyebrows at him, and Steve was so hot by this point he felt like he might faint, might get heatstroke, or—or something.  “But I know how much you like to lick off the frosting first.  I think you’ve got plenty where that came from.”  His fingers slid down, teased at the head of Steve’s cock, just a little, and Steve gasped, bowed forward, almost sobbed, as Tony’s callused fingertips pulled and tugged at his cockhead, so sensitive it almost hurt as pleasure, sensation, raw and immediate and hot and overwhelming, swept through him.  “This is just as red as your hot little nipples,” Tony said.  “Maybe this is your cherry.”

“Tony,” Steve gasped.  He squeezed his eyes shut, and another overwhelmed tear escaped, ran down the edge of his cheek, so hot the tear almost felt cold, as Tony kept teasing his cockhead, playing with it, rubbing his fingertips over the hot, sore, sensitized head, smearing his wetness all over it.  “Tony, p-please.”  The touch of Tony’s fingers to his sore, raw cock was so different from the touch of Tony’s foot, and it was the first time Tony had touched his cock with his hand what felt like _hours_ , since they’d started, and Steve felt like he might just vibrate out of his skin.  His hips wanted to jerk so badly.  He felt so hot under his skin, like he’d gone molten from his core out.  His cock was on fire, all blazing heat and burning, hot sensation under Tony’s teasing fingers, so sore from his foot and now all sensitive pleasure from his fingertips.

“Shhh,” Tony murmured.  “I’ll save the lollipop between your legs for later, hmm?  A special treat just for me.  Biggest one in the whole damn candy store, am I right, peaches?”  Another sucking, biting kiss against Steve’s neck, and Tony’s fingers left him, letting Steve shiver and shake through the aftermath of overwhelmed pleasure, even as Tony’s fingers rubbed over the curve of his pectoral, the others at the back of his neck, over his shoulders.  “I’d say you’re the vanilla to my chocolate,” he murmured in Steve’s ear, fond amusement in his voice, “but we both know you’re not vanilla at all, are you, champ?”  His fingers tugged at Steve’s nipple with each word.  “Not,” tug, “one,” tug, “little,” tug, “bit.”  And his fingers bit inward on a harsh, cruel pinch that had Steve letting out a wild cry of pure pained pleasure. 

“Tony,” he gasped, and he could feel his mouth hanging open, the way he was panting, shivering, hot all over.

“Yeah,” Tony said breathlessly.  “That’s the way my perfect pain slut likes his pleasure, huh?”  He tugged ruthlessly on Steve’s stinging nipple, until he was crying out, mouth hanging open, panting.  “No sweetness for my sweetheart without an awful lot of _spice_.”  Another cruel yank to the sensitive peak that had Steve letting out a broken sounding groan that was damn close to a sob.  It _hurt_ , oh, God, it hurt so good, so damn good.  Tony tugged again, and Steve groaned again.  “That’s it,” Tony said.  “Let me hear it, big boy.  Let me hear your voice.  Groan so gorgeously, just like that, for me.  So gorgeous.”  He gripped tightly, twisted, dug his nail in until Steve was whimpering, panting, then moved to the other, gripped, _yanked_ , until Steve was gasping, shaking against him, groaning and gasping with every tug and jerk and squeeze and pinch.  He dug his fingers into the areolas, into the muscle of Steve’s pecs, and squeezed, pinching until Steve _felt_ himself bruise, then pushed Steve back, put one hand on his chin and tilted his head back until his back was arching, presenting his sore, throbbing _tits_ , and bent his head to sink his teeth into the sore flesh around one throbbing areola.  And then Tony was holding him by the shoulders as he bit and sucked bruises into Steve’s sensitive nipple, the flesh of his sensitive tit, until he was whimpering, his cock throbbing, chest heaving as his whole body shook on each breath, and then Tony started all over again with the other one.

At some point, Tony fisted his hand in Steve’s hair and half dragged him, half guided him, up on shaky legs, still biting his chest with sharp, painful pleasure, sucking bruises out of the skin, then pushed him back, back, back.  Steve could barely think—his nipple was a throbbing ache, a reflection of his cock except that this one Tony _was_ sucking on—only vaguely aware of the backs of his knees hitting a bed.  And then he was down on it, his body knowing what to do even when his mind was a floaty mess, underneath Tony, arms bound under his body, against the small of his back, chest heaving, Tony’s leg between his thighs, pressing them out until they were spread, then spread wider, Steve’s ankles hanging loosely off the edges of the bed.  Steve whimpered, bucked and squirmed despite himself, the marks on his back and buttocks burning, hot against the softness of the bed, the scratch of the covers, hot and bright and wonderful, scratchy and sharp with pain, and Tony patted his thigh, kissed the throbbing ache of his bruising areola with soft lips that felt almost gentle, almost soothing, and called him good, good boy, such a good boy.  There were tears sheening Steve’s eyes by that point, good tears.  His cock felt so hard and so hot and so wet.  It was drooling liquid into his bellybutton.  He felt every inch of the pain slut Tony had called him.  He was panting.  It was perfect.

“Nice and spread,” Tony told him, sounding hot and breathless himself, as he sat up between Steve’s legs.  Steve looked up at him, but he couldn’t see much through his wet, blurry vision.  That was okay, it didn’t matter—he could feel Tony there, and that meant he was safe, always safe like this, with Tony.  “I love seeing you like this,” Tony said, and now his voice was soft and low, warm and fond, almost gentle.  “Spread out for me, hands cuffed and bound, cute little titties all red and bruising up, cock so hard you look like you’re gonna pop, so wet you could be a water slide, all marked up—helpless, for me, huh, Steve?  Just for me.” 

“A—a what?” Steve managed to get out.

Tony laughed and dragged a finger down the center of Steve’s chest, flicked it gently in the wet little pool Steve’s precome had made on the inward dip of his belly.  “I don’t know, big fella,” he said.  “You leak like a faucet someone’s broken in half.  So sweet and so wet.  I could slick you up with your own precome; who needs lube with you, huh?”

“Maybe you should, should call the plumber,” Steve slurred out.

“Nah, I’m the only plumber your _plumbing_ needs, right, princess?” Tony asked, and winked at him so obviously Steve could see it even with his dizzily pleasure-blurred vision, the way his head felt hot and full.

“That’s for sure,” he breathed.  Tony was so good with his body, he’d turn himself over to Tony any day of the week.  He’d never known anyone, been with anyone, who knew his body like Tony did.  “You’re . . . you’re good with your hands.” 

Tony grinned at him.  “I am,” he said.  “You know I am.”  He leaned down, both hands on Steve’s stomach so that he squirmed at the touch, the heat and sensation of Tony’s firm, callused palms, bit out a harsh breath, even as Tony pressed a kiss into his mouth and Steve groaned, arched up for it, relishing in the soft heat of his mouth, the pleasure that swept through him as Tony’s lips touched his, the wet warmth as he swept his tongue between Steve’s lips and into his mouth, sending hot, wonderful sensation all the way down to his toes and making them curl.  And then Tony’s hands slid up, closed over Steve’s pecs again, over his nipples, and squeezed, and pleasure just swept over Steve, hot and jolting and prickling and alive, and bore him away with it.  He moaned, pressed up into Tony’s hands, and then Tony was biting his bottom lip, a gentle little nip that had Steve moaning around it, mouth wet and soft against Tony’s as he swiped his tongue over Steve’s other lip and then pulled away.  Steve was barely aware of anything, his vision hazed with pleasure, but then he heard the snick noise of a bottle cap being opened and looked at Tony to see him slicking his hands with more of the warming oil he’d rubbed all over Steve’s shoulders and back and buttocks and thighs earlier.

Steve sucked in his breath.  Tony grinned, and then poured some of it into his hand and traced it down messily over Steve’s left pectoral, smearing the oil over his already sensitive skin until it gleamed.  He felt the warmth almost immediately, and Steve gasped as his sensitive skin began to prickle, to throb, raw where Tony had already worked it pink and red, but in the best way.  Tony poured more oil down, over Steve’s front, so it dripped down over his collarbones, and started to rub it in, over Steve’s, his, his heaving chest, his _tits_ , with his thumbs, his strong, already oiled hands.

It was warm.  It was so warm, and in moments Steve was tingled all over, flushed hot in the face all over again, bucking against the bonds around his arms, his position, rocking his hips helplessly.  Every movement made his sore rear, his shoulders, burn against the bed, on fire, wonderfully tender and sore. Tony just smiled down at him as he groaned and rocked and shivered under him, his mouth open and panting as moans, loud, needy noises, spilled out of him, wet with saliva that spilled out helplessly, too.  Tony was rubbing at his nipples now, pulling at them, and oh, God, he couldn’t think, there was just pleasure and sensation, every prickling spark of heat in his nipples going straight to his dick, the pleasure as Tony rubbed his thumbs over them and God, his dick was leaking, fat droplets of precome splatting down on Steve’s belly even as he panted and squirmed and the rocking movements of his hips made his dick jump.  He felt so hot, so hot all over.  His backside burned, on fire.  His breast was a stinging glow of radiant heat, a burning sensation that didn’t burn, that almost tickled, and Tony’s hands were massaging into the sensitive flesh, massaging his sensitive, heaving tits until Steve was whining, groaning just at that.

“Tony,” he groaned, through his wet, soft lips, his own voice so low and groaning and husky he almost didn’t recognize it.  Tony just grinned, smiled and rubbed at his hot, prickling tit with his thumb, along the curve of it, up under his nipple and over, and Steve gasped, squirmed under him.

“Good boy,” he said, “there’s my good boy, yeah, so good for it, aren’t you sweetheart?”  He moved one hand away, squeezing Steve’s left pectoral with his other hand until he was whining through his open mouth, and wiped it on the rag he’d left on the bed before he slid it up, cupped Steve’s jaw—Tony’s hand felt warm even against his hot skin, warm and prickling with sensation that lingered—and slid his thumb into Steve’s mouth, against the side of it, holding it open as he kissed him again.  The oil was an edible one, tasted like almonds and cinnamon and a little like peppers, and Tony’s mouth was hot and sweet and wet and the kiss was messy, leaving saliva spilling out over his chin, his jaw, against Tony’s lips, the noises wet and soft as Steve’s eyes slid closed and he pressed into the kisses, as the wet sound of their tongues and lips against each other, Tony sucking kisses into his mouth, filled the room.

Steve felt . . . he felt helpless, overcome.  Saliva drooled out of his mouth as Tony pulled away, pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, then slapped at both of Steve’s broad pecs, grinning as he gasped and they jumped under the heavy slap of his hands.  He squeezed against the nipples and Steve shuddered down to his toes.  “Such pretty little tits,” Tony said.  “Well, not little.  Not little at all, really, are they, slugger?  They’re huge.  You’ve got a rack and then some.”  He tugged on Steve’s nipples, and Steve gasped, groaned, felt tears of sensation stinging at his eyes, overwhelmed in the best way.  “How’s that warming oil treatin’ you?  Making you feel really nice?”

Steve nodded, heard himself sniff a heavy breath as he struggled to keep his eyes from stinging further because of the pure sensations of it.  “Yeah, good,” he slurred, and hardly recognized his own voice at all.

Tony smiled again, leaned in and pressed a kiss to Steve’s eyebrow.  “Yeah,” he breathed, and his breath felt cool against Steve’s hot skin, the sweat gathering there.  “Give me a color, sunshine.  How do you feel?”

“Good,” Steve said again, not quite able to track enough to think of another answer.  “G-green.  Green, Tony.”

“I hear you,” Tony said, a soft, fond smile curving one side of his mouth, lopsided and rueful and warmly tender, as he pulled back, and Steve had to catch his breath, it sent so much emotion through him, pulling tight in his stomach, surging in his breast.  “So,” he said then, still squeezing at Steve’s nipples, stroking and rubbing them like they were the controls to some advanced plane or computer readout or something until Steve was trembling all over, groaning on each breath, shivering down to his toes.  “How do you feel about clamps, stud?”

Steve made a sound in response, but he thought it only came out as a long, low _hnnnnn_.  “I,” he managed after a moment, vividly aware of how his chest was heaving, how it made his rounded pectorals, red and hot all over, jump under Tony’s hands like his tits were bouncing, “I, yeah?  What—whatever you want, Tony.”

“You’re such a good boy,” Tony breathed.  “Just whatever I want, huh, hot stuff?”

“Yeah,” Steve managed.  His head felt hot and heavy, dreamy and soft and slow.  It was all he could think of to say.  He spread his legs a little more, pressed his chest up, offering himself in every way he could think of, let his head fall back to expose his throat, his lips part.  “All yours.”

He heard Tony’s breath stutter in his throat, heard him swallow, and then he murmured, softly, thumbs drawing soft, tender little circles on Steve’s sensitive, stinging tits, over the warm curves of his pecs, “Yeah, good boy, gorgeous guy, so sweet, you’re so sweet for me, Steve, honey.  Such a—such a good boy for me, aren’t you, handsome?”

“Tony,” Steve managed to moan.  He knew his cock was jerking, leaking desperately against his belly, but he didn’t really care about that.  There was Tony and his warm thumbs on Steve’s hot, prickling tits and the way he was talking to him, and he felt helpless and overwhelmed and soft and liquid and _Tony’s_ , and that was all that mattered.  It was like being in a, a perfect dream, the way he was bound and helpless, prickling with pain, with welts, from shoulders to rear, the way Tony was talking to him, was touching him, and he was so gone, he was _all Tony’s_ , and his body trembled and his toes curled, feet trembling as he squeezed them against the sides of the bed.  Tony was going to torture his, his _tits_ , and oh, God, maybe he could come from that, maybe if he could Tony would let him come again . . . .

“So good,” Tony murmured again, and his hand came up, brushed Steve’s hair back out of his face, his thumb running over Steve’s forehead, and then he was pressing another kiss there, and the warm awareness of it washed all the way down over Steve’s chest, down to his toes, and then Tony was pulling back, moving away, reaching up over him.  Steve sucked in a breath, feeling the skin of his tits prickle, his nipples, aching and hot, and then Tony was back, pressing his lips to each tit just above the nipple in a lingering kiss before he dropped the clamps, all cold metal and cool teasing chains, in a little silvery puddle on Steve’s belly.  “You ready for this, peaches?” Tony murmured.

“Yes,” Steve slurred, “Yessir, yes, sir, ready.”  He flexed his shoulder muscles, arched his back, pushing his chest up into Tony’s hands, trying to show him how ready he was, even as it scratched his sore shoulders along the bedspread.  Tony slapped his tits again, pressing his hand into each one and squeezing as hot prickling sensation, both pain and pleasure at once, swept through Steve from the smacks, one on each side.  Steve was panting, his chest heaving, even before Tony rubbed his palms over his nipples and reached down for the clamps.

They were harsh, tight ones, with tips ending in balls on each side, and Tony tugged his nipple out, twisted until Steve was whining as he panted, groaning, his dick jerking and leaking at the painful pressure, and clamped it on so the balls dug into his areola, deep into the meat of his tit muscle, pushed out the tight peak.  He moaned, gasping, and Tony rubbed the nub of his nipple, back and forth with his fingers, made it prickle, made Steve’s dick jerk at the sudden burst of sensation, of pleasure-pain, as the soreness tightened and deepened in his tit, around his nipple, until it was tight and prickling and felt so hot, so alive and sensitized to every sensation . . . .

Tony did it again on the other side, and Steve almost sobbed as Tony twisted and tugged his nipple, then the clamp bit in tight, unforgiving steel balls biting, pushing deep.  There was a chain linking them, draping across Steve’s heaving chest like a, a kind of jewelry, silvery cool against his skin at the same time the chill almost felt like heat against his hot, oversensitized pecs.  Tony tangled his fingers in it and tugged, gently, and pleasure shot through Steve, pleasure or pain or both, hot and fiery, and when he came back to himself he realized he’d bent inward, curled his knees up, and was panting.  His shoulders prickled and stung against the bed, his buttocks felt raw and sore.

“Good boy,” Tony murmured again, pushing him down, pushing his knees out and down again, spreading his legs wide.  “Open up for me, all right, that’s my good boy, my good sweet pain slut, such a goddamn slut for pain he can’t help himself, right?  Can you, Rogers?”

Steve thought that if he weren’t already so hot and flushed he’d be flushing even darker.  It went straight to his cock, curled hot in his belly and made it jump and throb.  “No, sir,” he managed.

“Love having your tits clamped up, your little nipples all hard, look at you, squeezed all tight from it,” Tony murmured, and Steve panted, squeezed his eyes shut, because it was so—Tony’s words alone were making him tremble and shake, making his cock jerk, making him hot for it all over.  “How’s that feel?” Tony purred.  He tugged on one clamp and Steve bit his lip against a cry, managed to swallow it into a loud moan.  “Hurts?”

“Yeah, hurts,” Steve managed to gasp out.  It hurt, yeah, it throbbed with a deep, achy pain.  It hurt so good, it was so hot, he never wanted it to stop.  His dick jerked, leaking.  Tony tugged on the clamps again, on the chain, and there was _so much_ pressure.  He whined, moaned, twisted his head until he could pant into the bed under him, jerking his hips up despite himself.  He was aware his voice came out sounding breathy and needy and desperate, like—like sex.  “Hurts so perfect, Tony.”

“Good,” Tony murmured.  “That’s good.”  He leaned in then, blew out a breath, and it feathered over Steve’s sore, clamped nipple, and he gasped, jerked on a helpless moan at the soft sensation of Tony’s warm, feathery breath.  Tony took another breath, blew it out again, then moved to the other, gave it two puffs of air, too, and Steve was squirming, felt his eyes go wet where they were shut tight, behind his eyelids, because it was just . . . so much.  He couldn’t help the noise he made when Tony closed his mouth—wet, hot, soft and sucking around the cold hard steel, the unforgiving bite and the pain of the pressure biting into his muscle—around his nipple and _sucked_ , curling his tongue around the tight little peak until Steve’s whole body felt like it was on fire from sensation coming just from that point, from Tony’s tongue against Steve’s hard, pebbled tip of a nipple.  Tony sucked, played his tongue against the clamp, rocking it back and forth in a way that made the pain tighten, hot and tight and stinging, and pulled off and blew over the skin again, and it tingled cold and then hot, and Steve breathed out in a helpless noise.  And then Tony did it all over again on the other one, and if anything it was even more intense, as one nipple prickled in the cool air against the wetness covering it and Tony’s warm, soft mouth sucked on the other.  Steve whimpered aloud but didn’t realize he had until he heard his own voice, low and soft and wrecked.

“Good boy,” Tony murmured again, lips against Steve’s tit even as it prickled from the oil.  Hot and wet, Steve felt so hot and wet, all over, from his shut eyelids to the sweat beading on his ankle to the pool of slippery wetness all over his belly and his hot, aching cock, an ache, molten hot from throbbing tip to aching balls.  “Good boy,” Tony repeated, and just the idea of Tony’s pleasure in his responses, that he was good, that he deserved Tony’s praise, made Steve throb anew in all kinds of ways.  Tony’s voice was husky, husky and warm.  “Can you take a few weights, too?  It’ll make them bite in there really nicely, baby—really make you hurt.  Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, a throb of excitement leaping hot and hard in his chest.  The idea of the pain, of having his clamped nipples weighted and pull and painful like that, the effort it would cost him, was good enough, made him feel hot and achy and wanting down to his toes, made his cock jerk and leak, but it was more than that, it was the idea of doing it _for Tony_ , doing something that he wanted, that he’d asked for.  For Tony.  His voice sounded wrecked.  He sounded like he’d been gargling with barbed wire.  “Yeah, y-yeah.  Put ‘em . . . put ‘em on me, hurt me, Tony, please.”

“You beg so prettily,” Tony said softly.  “Never seen anyone who begs as prettily as you, sweetheart.  All so, so damn sweet and sincere and honest.”  A gentle circle of a fingertip around Steve’s painfully sensitive nipples, over the tips, above where the balls bit into his skin. 

Of course it was honest, Steve wanted to say, would have said, if he could think straight.  He honestly _adored_ Tony, and everything Tony did to him was so—so goddamned perfect he didn’t even know what to do with himself.  And having his nipples weighted and clamped was one of his _favorite things_ , and—and Tony was wonderful, and giving it to him, and—all he seemed to be able to do was moan, but he let his mouth hang open, wet and soft, and when Tony reached up toward his face, he turned his face toward his hand, pressed his mouth wet against his palm, and panted against Tony’s hand, hoping that it conveyed something of what he felt.

“Honey,” Tony said, and his voice was husky and thick.  He held Steve’s face for a moment, stroked the side of it, ran his thumb over Steve’s nose, along his wet lips, then tilted his mouth closed and pressed a gentle little kiss to it, one that made Steve’s breath catch in his throat and his stomach go liquid and soft and hot, before he reached up for something Steve didn’t bother turning to look and see.  Tony had said—Tony had said weights.  Steve lay there, trying to catch his breath, moaning a little despite himself, biting his bottom lip, sucking on it, until Tony came back, and oh, he _felt_ it as Tony attached the weight to the bottom of the clamp and it abruptly pulled down and _down_ , pulling at his tit, a constant tug, biting and demanding even as he sucked in his breath and that made the muscle bounce, pulling in against the weight as he flexed instinctively and it rolled to the side.  The ball tips of the clamp abruptly felt even more cruel, harsh and deep, and Steve gave a harsh whining breath of effort.  He felt lopsided, suddenly, off balance, until Tony did the other side, and the harsh pain was the same both places, that heavy downward pull that made his nipples feel stretched and heavy.  Tony flicked them both, set them sliding over Steve’s hot red pecs, and Steve moaned, couldn’t help the way his muscles flexed, hands curling into fists behind him and shoulders pressing into the bed until they flared with tender soreness, arching his back, lifting his backside off the bed until he fell back with another moan.  His tits ached, and his nipples _throbbed_.

“Good boy,” Tony said again, and then his hand was under Steve’s back, against his spine, stroking down the small of it, and he was pushing up, and Steve realized what he wanted and worked his muscles and pushed with him until he could get himself up and sway forward, and then almost shouted as he came up and was sitting on his sore, marked, sensitized buttocks, hot and tender against the bed, and the weights were swinging down, tugging on his nipples, his tits, until he was gritting his teeth and groaning.  His head swung forward, down, and then Tony’s hand was there, bracing it, petting his hair back, and Steve moaned and turned his face in toward Tony’s hand, rubbing his cheek against the comforting firm, hard calluses, the way Tony cradled his cheek and jaw, stroked his wet, parted, open lips with his thumb, let Steve flick his tongue along the nail and suck wetly at the pad of it as he groaned through the weight at his nipples.  Tony’s other hand came around and rubbed at, cupped, the back of Steve’s neck, stroking gently through the wet hair sticking there at the back of Steve’s neck even as he panted and groaned against Tony’s other thumb with every breath.  The weights pulled on the clamps, pulling them down until every breath brought a painful, tingling ache as they swung and pulled on his nipples.  His nipples felt very raw and hot, a prickling heat tingling against the air.

“Still doin’ all right, sweet stuff?” Tony murmured, and Steve nodded, groaned, even though he could hear himself breathing heavily through his mouth, trying to catch his breath.  Tony braced Steve’s face in his hands, one against his jaw, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheekbone that had Steve catch his breath on a groan.  “Does that hurt how you were hoping?” Tony asked then, in another moment, and Steve groaned softly, again, but managed to nod.

“Yes, yes, yessir,” he managed to slur out, finally.

“You have such sensitive tits,” Tony murmured, “sometimes I feel like I’m taking the easy way out when I hurt them, but you react to it so beautifully I just can’t help wanting to give them some sugar, some lovin’.  You just—you just give it all up for me.  Just like that.” 

“Yes, for you,” Steve agreed, his mouth slow and heavy, as he leaned forward without opening his eyes, let his face rest against Tony’s, his mouth soft against the side of his neck.  He could feel Tony swallowing, convulsively, the way he moved his face in against Steve’s to brush his lips over his cheek again in the barest brush of a kiss.

“Yeah, for me,” Tony murmured, and his voice sounded hoarse.  “All right, sweetheart, let’s see what I can do here, huh?”  His hand pressed flat against Steve’s stomach, then slid up along his chest, making him shiver and shake under the bright shivery sensations it brought with it, until he reached one of the weights, and then he _tugged_ on it, and Steve’s entire world exploded in a bright, breathless flare of hot, consuming sensation, not pain, not pleasure, somehow both at once and neither.  When he came back to himself, he was rolling his face on Tony’s shoulder, mouth open and wet, and groaning, shaking all over, wet with sweat, his nipple throbbing so painfully, so beautifully.

“That’s it,” Tony murmured.  “Good boy.  That’s my good boy.”  Another tug, and Steve gasped out a moan into Tony’s shoulder.  Tony’s other arm came up then, carefully slid up along Steve’s side, where he wasn’t marked up at all, slid up and around over his back, along his spine, to stop just under his shoulder blade, before the prickling ache of the marks he’d left started, and he pulled him in lightly, just enough that the encircling weight of his arm made Steve feel braced, supported, like there was something to put his weight against if he swayed.  It was good to feel steadied, like that.  To feel held, to feel safe.  Like Tony had him, no matter what.  Tony rubbed at his tit, murmured, “My good, good boy,” and Steve was hard pressed not to just melt in his arms entirely.

Tony tugged on the weight at his nipple again, and Steve’s whole world turned inside out with sensation again, hot and white and bright, and then Tony started rubbing his finger over the peaked nub of it, and Steve could feel himself panting loud and heavy in his own ears, feel the way he was twisting and shivering, whimpering, under Tony’s arm.  Tony smiled, pressing it in against Steve’s cheek, and then he was doing something—tugging Steve’s leg back up onto the bed, for one.  It made his dick bob in midair, and he groaned at that, too, but then Tony was somehow behind him, tugging Steve into his arms, both hands pulling at the clamps, playing at his tits, and everything went hot and bright again, and Steve felt himself huff out a loud breath, arching forward and up against Tony’s hands, as if he could escape, or earn himself more, or break free somehow.  Tony bit down gently on his ear, and he heard the loud moan he gave, the heaving gasps, even as he fell back down against Tony’s chest and Tony squeezed at his nipples again until he rounded his shoulders with a helpless whimpering noise he felt in his chest, in his throat.  His back, his shoulders, were prickling and sore and raw against Tony’s warmth when he leaned back into him, but it still felt good, somehow, from the discomfort to the steadiness of Tony’s body behind him, the way he felt curled over and around Steve’s torso, his body, warm against Steve’s overworked feverish heat.

“There you go,” Tony murmured.  “I’ve gotcha, big boy.”  Steve gasped, moaned, just at the words, the confirmation of what he’d been thinking, a needy little _haaa_ of air that made him flush, or would have if he wasn’t so gone on—on everything, Tony’s closeness and presence and the pleasure and heat all through his body, his tight, hot, beautifully sore nipples and throbbing pecs, his tender shoulders and sore, welted, raw buttocks, his throbbing dick and the way even the air teasing chill against the wet, exposed tip made him shudder and ache down to his balls, the way his stomach felt twisted up and pulled taut, tight with need, even the smell of Tony’s cologne and his body, sweat and skin mixed with the familiarly beautiful, enticing smell of the expensive cologne Tony wore twining around him. 

“I’ve gotcha,” Tony murmured again.  “That’s it, go on.  You gonna come for me?  You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”  He gave Steve another light slap to his pectoral, against his nipple, and it sent the weighted clamp swinging, pulling on his nipple, his muscle, as it swung, rubbing painfully up and down as it shifted the balls against his skin, dragged them along sensitive flesh, and he almost came right then.  “Shhh,” Tony murmured, clever fingers still playing at Steve’s nipple, back up over his, his heaving tits, squeezing, kneading like a massage, until finally he traced them back up to Steve’s collarbones, ran his fingers along them gently, almost delicately.  In another moment, he had a hand on Steve’s belly—holding him, he realized, holding him steady—and had the other behind him, on Steve’s bound wrists.  They were free a moment later, Tony pressing his thumb into the hollow that would read his thumbprint and unlock them, and then Tony was pulling him back, both Steve’s wrists in his hands, dragging them upward.  Steve let him, relaxed into him with a heady sigh and let Tony do whatever he wanted with his hands.

As it happened, it looked like what Tony wanted was to have Steve’s hands curled loosely around the back of his own head, and Steve complied with a willing, happy sigh, letting his head roll inward against Tony’s cheek again so his mouth rested against the line of Tony’s beard and curling his fingers eagerly into those thick, dark curls, like so much unspun silk under his fingers, thick and springy and soft.  He loved touching Tony’s luxurious hair, black but not so black it didn’t shine brown in the light, curling and soft under his fingers, even if the best part was always how Tony shuddered and gasped and sighed when he stroked it, and even now, Tony was shuddering under the touch, even as Steve kneaded gently at the back of his neck and curled his fingers loosely into it.

Tony turned his head, just a little, and their lips brushed against each other, a petal soft kiss before Tony pressed a more definite one to the side of Steve’s mouth, against his chin, still rubbing gently at Steve’s wrists, then up along the side of Steve’s face, a row of soft, dragging, wet kisses, before he brought his own hands back down.  Steve left his where they were, tilting his whole body in a little more against Tony.  His shoulders were a shuddering mass of tenderness that made his cock jerk as he shifted against Tony, but it felt so good to tilt his body against his, to feel Tony’s sturdy strength and presence there against him as Tony kissed the lobe of his ear.  The position made him feel strangely vulnerable, the way it exposed his underarms to the air, kept his hands helplessly behind him, canted back and only able to really hold onto Tony, but there was—there was something good about that.  He liked it.

Tony’s hands slid down a moment later, curled around Steve’s knees, then pressed them out wide, looping his legs loosely over Tony’s own, spreading them apart and exposing him in a new way, splaying him out, his hands rubbing up and down Steve’s inner thighs again, as if to expose his hot, hard, aching cock to the room at large.  Steve caught his breath on a moan.  He was suddenly very aware, not just of his cock, but of his hole again, aware of how Tony had worked him open and to orgasm on his fingers earlier, how he was still tender there and smeared and wet with lingering lube.  By the time Tony’s fingers came back up to tug on the weighted clamps on his nipples again, to massage Steve’s tingling chest muscles, he was shivering all over already.  He wondered if Tony would make him come again.  Sometimes Steve felt a little guilty over how eager he got to come, how much he loved it, when Tony could put his own orgasms off for hours and not even seem to mind—hell, Tony _was_ putting his own orgasm off; he could feel Tony’s cock hot and hard through his slacks pushing up against his back the way Tony was holding him, the bulge of his hard hot length against his spine, while he lavished attention on Steve; he could feel him a little wet through his slacks, his underwear.  It made Steve feel—feel helpless and greedy.  He could hold off, he knew he could, but—but Tony seemed to enjoy it, a lot more than he did, the holding off, so maybe it was all right.  It was torture for Steve, the waiting; his whole body was already pulled tight with need, with anticipation, hope for another orgasm, and he felt like a needy, wanting mess, an embarrassment, out of control, a quivering wreck, totally in Tony’s hands now, and he loved it, had to bite back a sob just at the twisting, wonderful, out of control thought.

Tony’s fingers squeezed at his nipples again, and Steve twitched under his hands despite himself, moaning, even as Tony’s hands came up to brush touches against Steve’s elbows, up and down his arms, down over the underside of his biceps, dropped to trace gently over the insides of his thighs as Steve caught his breath on another gasp.  Tony’s face felt warm against his neck as he murmured, “There, I’ve gotcha, big fella,” and pressed a kiss there, wet and soft just under Steve’s hairline, another behind his ear.  “I’ve gotcha, sweetheart.”  His fingers slid back down, over Steve’s collarbone, tracing it gently, Tony’s thumb circling in a slow pattern over his skin, before his fingertips feathered down over Steve’s pectorals, making him hiss a breath, suck back his own saliva again and bite down on his bottom lip against a moan as Tony’s fingers teased fresh sensation out of the hot, prickling, sensitized skin.  Steve felt so warm, so warm all over, even as his shoulders and rear end prickled and his cock ached, even hotter than the rest of his body, his nipples throbbing and hot and tender and almost numb.  Tony tugged at the weights, teased at the clamps, at Steve’s nipples.  “I bet when I pull these off, you’re gonna come,” he murmured, and bit lightly at Steve’s ear in a way that made him give a helpless wavering breath that was more than half a moan, tilt his head back against Tony’s shoulder as his eyes slipped closed.  He rubbed his fingers into Tony’s hair, massaged them gently into the springy, curling strands, rolled his cheek against Tony’s shoulder.

“Are you, are you gonna do that?” he managed to ask, and it came out so breathy and hoarse, raspy.

“Not just yet, big boy, no,” Tony said, his voice sounding fond, fond and warm, as he pressed his face to Steve’s, nuzzled back, pressed a kiss into his hair, against his temple.  His fingers tugged at the weights again, slipped back up to tease at the tips of his nipples, making Steve ache and shudder with the burning numb heat that was gathering there, spreading through his clamped flesh, more so with every tap Tony laid against his clamped nubs, sending another dull shock through Steve and making him jerk.  Every one made his cock leak.  The tip of his cock felt so hot and hard, burning and aching and on fire with need, throbbing with desperate, ignored want, it was almost painful even without a touch, and Steve still found himself dreaming of those touches all the same, of Tony’s fingertips on his sensitive, wet, slippery cockhead, slipping and sliding and drawing slippery shapes over the thin, raw-hot skin until Steve was moaning and shaking and dripping, smearing wet against Tony’s fingers, maybe his thumb, pushing into his slit, making him shake, making him tremble with the delicate little touches to that sensitive, so sensitive spot that made Steve feel hurt so good, feel like he was going to vibrate right out of his skin, he burned for it, he ached for it, for Tony to touch him, to squeeze, to get his fingers around Steve’s cockhead and squeeze and stroke at the base, anything at all.  His cockhead burned with need, with want, and he could feel, almost hear, himself dripping messily against the bed.  Way messier than a pussy, Tony had said, more than once, a few times, and Steve felt himself flush red hot at the thought all over again.

“You going numb?” Tony purred in his ear, and Steve nodded shakily.  Tony kissed softly at his ear then, gave the lobe of it a wet, gentle suck, and slid his fingers up to pinch roughly at the muscle of Steve’s tits on both sides, above the nipples, and the sudden sharp sting had Steve moaning, his head lolling back on Tony’s shoulders as his body jerked in sudden response.  “Good boy,” Tony murmured in his ear, and Steve’s whole body felt warm and lax and liquid with pleasure at the praise; he could feel himself going loose, unwinding.

Tony slapped at his tits a little more, and the sensation sparked through every inch of Steve, going hot and bright under his nerve endings each time, even as Tony shaped the weight of Steve’s tits with his hands and squeezed as if weighing them, bouncing them lightly in his hands and rubbing his thumbs up and down around the nipples, against the sides of them, around the clamps.  Steve shivered, felt his cock leak even more, jerking wetly, even as Tony pressed soft, humid, warm kisses down along the arch of his neck, beneath his hairline.  When he pinched at the soft underside of his pecs, Steve gasped out a harsh breath and almost came right there.  He trembled as Tony rubbed gently at those same spots with his thumbs in slow, gentle, almost thoughtful little circles, massaging the underside of Steve’s tits.  It felt so good it left him shaking, and he clutched desperately at the back of Tony’s neck, curled his fingers in his hair and turned his face inward to rest against the warm, soft, scratchy skin of Tony’s neck, feeling his own breath stuttering and heaving, and just hung on.

Tony kept at it for a—a long time.  Steve wasn’t sure how long.  His sense of time had completely dissolved, washed away by pleasure and pain and the constant wonder of Tony’s hands on him, Tony’s hands on his chest, his pecs, teasing at his skin, at his nipples, pulling on the weights until Steve was gasping and his face felt sweaty and wet.  Tony even reached up after a while, playing with perfect, insistent, pleasure with his fingertips at Steve’s nipple, setting the clamp, the weight, swinging with his other hand, and pressed the backs of his fingers to Steve’s cheek, rubbed where his skin felt sweaty and damp, wet, then turned his hand over and stroked it there gently.  “Shh, big fella,” Tony murmured, soft and warm and low and soothing in his ear, and Steve was too far gone to even speak, just gasping against him, squirming, breathless, “shh, sweetheart.”  He pinched at Steve’s almost numb nipple, and Steve gasped, arched back against him, couldn’t help it, and then Tony slapped at his tit again and Steve almost came all over again.  He could feel the way his toes clenched tight in the covers of the bed, the way his back arched and the hoarse cry that tore out of his throat.

Tony’s fingers slid down over the bottom of Steve’s pec again, teasing gently where he was already sensitive, and then he squeezed, hard, hard enough that Steve could feel himself bruising under his thumb, his fingers, and he was so close, he nearly came, he saw stars, but—but it wasn’t quite enough, not quite enough.  He could feel his dick throbbing, aching, he was straining, so damn close, and he made a helpless noise, pitiful in his own ears, twisted against Tony, jerked his hips despite himself, despite how badly he wanted to be good, felt his fingers clenching in Tony’s soft dark hair and panted against his jaw, soft breath and messy wet from his mouth hanging open, gave a whine through his nose that sounded high-pitched and desperate even to him.  Tony squeezed again, and oh, oh, if he could only come from that—

“I know what you need,” Tony murmured against the back of his neck, soft and dark and knowing, and Steve shuddered all the way down to his toes, felt the muscles of his hips and back and behind flex as he gasped, the way his thighs worked as he bucked up.  His skin was burning and hot all over, little pinpricks of sensation.  He felt so hot.  He let his head fall back, hang back and rest on Tony’s shoulder, and he could feel the wet slide of his hair.  He needed to _come_ , Steve thought, unfocused, but then he thought that no, that wasn’t it.  He needed whatever Tony wanted him to have.  He pressed his face closer to Tony’s jaw and just breathed him in.  He could still smell his cologne.

“Shhh,” Tony said, hoarse and gentle against his ear, and he was stroking over his tit now, gentle and slow, just as gentle as his voice, despite the way Steve’s nipple was still clamped and the soft, gentle way Tony traced over it made it throb with a dull, aching pain, made him want to squirm, Tony’s fingertips callused and rough and so gentle against the swell of Steve’s pectoral muscle, the rounded curve of it, then down the corded muscles of his side, making him tingle with the gentleness against his sweaty, sensitive skin.  He shifted under Steve, straightened out his legs, pushing Steve’s even further apart, and Steve let him, let his body rock back and breathed out.  Tony was stroking his hip, petting his inner thigh, other hand back to stroking and teasing at Steve’s pecs, tugging one nipple, and Steve shivered, moaned.  “You’re so big,” Tony said, and by the purring pleasure in his voice Steve knew he was talking about his dick, “always blown away by how big you are.  So sweet for me, too.  Aren’t you, stud?”  Steve couldn’t even begin to think enough to answer that question, but he knew Tony didn’t really expect one.  And then Tony’s fingers touched his dick, and he couldn’t think at all, he arched up into it as sensation, pleasure, pain, he didn’t know, washed through him in a wave of bright, hot sensation from his dick.

It only lasted a moment, though, a split second, and then he was left bereft and moaning again, missing the touch, the friction, the pleasure and heat of it—but then Tony’s fingers skimmed back and touched his still-sensitive rim, callused fingers gentle and wet against his hole, and oh, _oh_ , oh, God, Tony had just touched his cock to—to _slick up his fingers_ , get them wet with Steve’s own precome, and he’d—oh, God, that was so hot, that was so—he groaned, gasped, jerked up against Tony, arched his back, unable to help himself, just writhing as everything went white and bright and hot and perfect inside his head with the pure want of it, the one-two punch of hot not-quite-humiliation and the twist of desperate desire.  “Let me in, sweetheart,” Tony murmured, hot, against Steve’s neck, against his pulse, and Steve gasped, gasped and held in his breath, floating on it in that hot bright space where everything was pleasure, for just a moment before he was thinking enough to consciously relax his muscles, bear down, and Tony’s slick fingers—God, slicked up with Steve’s _own fluids_ —pushed inside him, almost easily just with his own precome to slick him up, God, two at once, and Steve was glad of that, he was already a little relaxed from before, and he could take it, he liked it, the sudden pressure and fullness, a little hot and dry and raw, a little bit of stretch, was enough to make him jolt, but also settled inside him like a comfort, heady and hot, the feel of Tony’s callused fingers firm inside him, filling him, the pure pleasure just in that, feeling the pressure, feeling Tony’s clever fingers crook into him, filling him like that, pressing into him inside.

Tony’s voice was wavering, low and rough, when it came again.  “God, you’re so good,” he said.  “Yeah, just like that.  _Just_ like that, Steve.  You’re so good, you’re amazing.”  He pressed a kiss against the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve felt himself shudder—around his fingers, so it set the weighted clamps on his tits swinging, down to his toes—and took a deep, unsteady breath.

And then Tony’s fingers pinched at his nipple again, and he gasped as it woke up his numb tit, and Tony circled his fingers in, and _in_ to him, and they pressed into that place inside that always had Steve seeing stars, once, twice, three times, and Tony was pressing kisses along his neck again, along his jaw, warm and wet, and the pleasure—from his sore nipple, from the way Tony would flick the weight on the other one, set it swinging until Steve was gasping, then go back to tugging on his nipple, his fingers rubbing and rubbing and rubbing against Steve’s sweet spot inside and the pleasure that flared and spread inside him with every knowing rub of Tony’s fingers, spiraling high and tight until he hardly remembered how to breathe, and without even really realizing it he was spreading his hand out wide in Tony’s hair, against the back of his head, hand loose and fingers messy in his soft curls where they twined around them even as his face lolled against Tony’s neck, half shaking his head just out of pure overwhelmed pleasure, the messy smearing of his mouth against Tony’s skin, his throat, the pounding of his pulse under his skin.  He was gone, lost in it, in another moment, the only things that felt real to him the heat of his skin, the solidity of Tony under him, his warmth and the smell of his cologne, the scratch of his stubble, the ache of the clamps persistent on Steve’s sore, aching tits and the constantly circling rub of fingers deep inside coaxing the pleasure inside him higher and higher and higher, around and around, over and over.  He lost track of time completely, couldn’t have said how long it had been, how long he spent there, shaking against Tony, caught up in that high bright spiral of sensation.  Tony was murmuring, low and hot and probably wonderful, but he couldn’t have understood it for the life of him.  He was shaking apart.

And then he came.  The pleasure crested, went hot and incandescent, radiant, perfectly, like the perfect swing into motion when Tony put his arm around his waist in the armor and Steve put his foot on his boot and they were flying, but while that was perfect and cold and clear and bracing with the wind on his face, stinging and bright, this was hot, all-consuming, nothing but pleasure, sensation, all through his body, lighting him up as he arched his back, cried out, barely aware of how hard he was shaking, of how his fingers were curling tight, fisting in Tony’s hair, of the way Tony was holding him, body supporting him, wrapped around him, the only he was really aware of how every shake, every violent shudder, made the weighted clamps on his nipples swing, ratcheted up the sensation inside of him, so perfectly intense, so painful and yet burning with pleasurable sting, that it just made him come harder and harder, made the overwhelming hot bright agonizing splendor of his orgasm go on and on and on.  He was barely aware of his dick pumping out come, hot and messy, except for when some of it splattered up over his own mouth, over his chin, and he felt so amazingly, humiliatingly debauched, so gorgeously filthy, that it just made him come harder still, and then when Tony’s hand curled over his dick, rubbed at the tip, and he felt how messy his callused fingers had gotten, covered in Steve’s wet messy spend as he rubbed at his cockhead, down his shaft, and it was just—Steve kept coming, stayed in that hot bright place for a long time, such a long time.  When he finally came down from it, he felt warm and . . . and soft, floating, the inside of his head fuzzy.  There were tears in his eyes, and his throat felt raw whenever he gasped, dragged in a heavy breath, like he’d been running, except for him to get that raw ache in his throat and chest he’d have to have been running for, for _days_.

Tony murmured to him, soft and slow, kissed the curve of his ear.  He pulled his fingers out of Steve, and Steve heard himself whimper, then realized how hard he was gripping Tony’s hair and dropped his hand with a flinch of guilt, opening and closing his fingers as he realized how hard they’d been curling inward, and the flinch sent the weights swinging again and he gasped at the pain, the constant tugging pressure against numb, aching tits and nipples that throbbed and prickled despite being just as numb.  Steve blinked, and tears spilled over, ran down the sides of his face, out of his eyes.  He heard himself gasp again.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Tony was whispering in his ear, and his voice sounded raw, taken apart, broken open, utterly.  He raised his hand, stroked it against Steve’s cheek, brushing away wetness that Steve realized was overwhelmed tears, turning it against his skin in a soft, lingering caress, rubbing his thumb against the curve of Steve’s cheekbone, slid it down, fingers and thumb swiping up the come that had landed on Steve’s jaw, rubbing it gently off his skin.  Steve took in a deep, unsteady breath, and Tony kissed the curve of his ear again.  He felt very very—soft.  Warm and floating and good.  He swallowed, gasped, and then felt himself smiling, soft and hazy, up at Tony.  “Sweetheart,” Tony murmured thickly.  “So good, Steve.  So good for me.  You did so well, sweetheart.  You did perfectly for me.  Coming just from your tits and your sweet little hole, huh?  Just how I wanted, you did just how I wanted.  Just perfectly.”

Steve felt himself go warm all over, like he stepped into sunlight, like he’d been submerged in a warm, comforting bath, his skin tingling like Tony’s words were the rays of the sun against it.  He shivered, pressed his wrists against Tony’s neck, clumsily trying to cradle his head, twist himself up for a kiss, felt himself smile even wider.  He’d done just what Tony wanted.  _Perfectly_ , Tony had said.  Perfectly.

Tony sniffed a bit, caressed Steve’s face a little more, callused fingertips soft against his skin, then both his hands fell to curl over Steve’s pecs, against the clamps and his sore nipples, holding them and supporting them gently, as he bent his head and he gave Steve that kiss, as their lips touched gently, softly, as softly as flower petals, as a cotton blanket gentle over his skin, as silk.  Steve moaned, felt his mouth fall open, and Tony’s tongue swiped gently, so softly, wet and warm, along his bottom lip, warm and soft as it dipped inside his mouth and made him shudder in Tony’s arms.  He moaned, arched up into it, sucked on Tony’s tongue, and Tony kissed him deeper, and something in him unspooled, went even softer, soft and pliant and easy and sweet.  Tony made a soft noise, one of pleasure, and Steve went even deeper, pliant and easy, for him, couldn’t help it, he just wanted to give Tony everything, give it all up to him, give him everything he had to give.

Tony kissed him for a long time.  Steve couldn’t have been happier.  He was floating, somewhere where everything was pleasure, deep and sweet and good, the kiss perfect, sending little shivers of pleasure through his whole body as Tony kissed him and kissed him.  He kept moving his mouth against Tony’s, maybe a little clumsily, but he didn’t even care, rocked by pleasure every time Tony easily moved with his lips or tongue, gave him even more exactly what he wanted, even more perfectly.

When Tony pulled away, finally, Steve was breathless, even more so as Tony pulled away slowly, brushing hair back from Steve’s face, caressing his cheeks, his jaw, running his fingers across his lips, and the way he smiled at him—his heart throbbed in his chest, oddly painful and quick, like he was still arrhythmic, like his heart was too big for his body, too big to be contained in his ribcage.  Tony’s thumb gently traced his bottom lip.  “Sunshine,” he said, thickly, but God, no, his smile was the sunshine, leaving Steve warm, warm from the inside out, as brilliant as a spring day without a cloud in the sky.

Tony caressed his cheek again, let his head drop to Steve’s shoulder, the brush of his soft hair a welcome weight, and then he was straightening again and his grin was changing, becoming more mischievous.  “You’re hard again, you know,” he said.  “Already.”

Steve hadn’t even realized, not until Tony had said.  He realized then how hot his cock felt, how sore, throbbing and oversensitive.  Oh, God.  It felt so—so big, heavy and swollen and hot and eager, and he moaned, swallowed hard.

“Not sure if you want more,” Tony murmured, stroking Steve’s neck, his jaw, lightly again.  His eyes were fixed on Steve’s, watchful, somehow careful.  “But I’d like to give you more.  What do you say, big fella, huh?”

“Sir,” Steve said helplessly, then had to swallow, hard.  Oh, God, the way his cock was throbbing now, now that he was aware of it.  “Sir, I—oh, Tony.  Sir.”

“You’re so lovely,” Tony breathed, stroking his thumb over the dip of Steve’s throat in a way that made him want to tip his head back, bare his throat, helpless for him, so he did, reveling in the way Tony’s breath caught, even in the soft, sweet, hazy space he’d found himself in.  “So lovely, sweetheart, but that wasn’t an answer for me, was it?”

Hadn’t it been?  Steve forced himself to think, not just respond, even though his thoughts felt hazy and thick, soft and slow.  “More, Tony,” he said finally, hazily.  “Sir.  Please.”

The grin Tony gave him in response to that made him shiver all the way down to his toes, made his cock jerk almost painfully, hot and ready, made it leak.  “Thank you,” he said.  “Thank you for telling me.  You did so well.  Oh, you sweetheart, Steve.  I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

Steve could barely think, barely speak through the sudden want that pounded in his chest, through his head.  “Sir,” he said, and it came out hoarse and rough, a barely there rasp.  “Please.”

Tony’s eyes softened; something went tight around his eyes, in his face, then smoothed out, his whole face going soft and open with it, like something had fallen away, leaving him wrenched apart, his mouth open, face falling out of its handsome lines into something softer and more disjointed, just for a moment, before his playful smile was back in place and he was pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips that had him parting them, sighing softly into it, before Tony moved away, kissed his nose, his forehead, his temple, nosing into his hair and breathing in, his thumb tracing the line of Steve’s clavicle, along his collarbone.

“Good boy,” he said, and his voice was still very hoarse.  “I wonder how soon I could get you to come again, huh?  Any bets?”

Steve’s cock felt very hot, hot and needy, throbbing between his legs, against his hip.  He groaned, swiveled his hips helplessly.  He had no idea.

“I should time you,” Tony said, still smiling, and kissed his cheek, still stroking along his chest, playing idly with the come still spattering it, swiping it up on his fingers.  “Here, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you.”

 _Yes_.  Everything in Steve’s body pulled tight and soft at the same time at that, hot and needy, on fire with want.  _Yes, yes, yes please, sir.  Please._   He knew he had let out a soft whine, was panting, and he felt himself flush.

Tony clasped his hand, helped him up, helped him turn over, get on his hands and knees.  The weights pulled down on his clamped tits, swaying under him, and Steve lost himself in the pulling, aching pain of it for long moments, rocking back and forth, letting them pull at him, feeling an echo in the bob of his aching, hot, untouched and needy cock in the air, so wet around the head and dripping that every movement of his hips made air touch it with a whisper of cold.  He was shuddering, lost in it, in the sensation, in his head, in his body, and then Tony slid two slick fingers down his crack, into his hole, and Steve felt himself flinch with need, with want, cry out at the sudden pressure, the penetration and sensation, not pleasure or pain, just _there_ , insistent and real and, and wonderful with it.

Tony pressed a kiss to Steve’s sore rear, against the red, welted skin, and Steve shivered with it all over, even as he started to move his fingers, to work him open.  Tony was always so careful, getting him open and wet and slick, and he was still tender inside, sensitive, from how long Tony had spent fingering him earlier, teasing his pleasure out of him.  Steve shuddered, heaving for breath.  Tony was talking, he realized, voice a warm, constant presence, rolling over him like a blanket, constant praise, as warm as a touch over Steve’s whole body.  He called him beautiful again, wonderful, sweet, so sweet and good, praised the flush of his rear, his aching tits, even his muscles inside, how they felt against Tony’s fingers—God—and the way Steve relaxed to let him in, the obscene aching bob and drag of his cock, how red and flushed it was, almost purple, until Steve had his head down, dizzy with the praise, the detail of it, eyes closed, hot with the obscene knowledge of it, the awareness, and that just went straight to his cock, too.  Tony’s words were quick and rambling and warm, his other hand stroking the soft hair at the back of Steve’s neck, rubbing gently against the damp downy hair at Steve’s hairline, the base of his skull, even as he praised the width of Steve’s trembling thighs, the curl of his toes, the shape of his ears, the helpless flexing of his shoulders and back, and Steve felt himself go hot all over all over again.

His toes, his ears, the little whimpery noise he made when Tony rubbed at his prostate and he bit his lip despite himself—those were all things that hadn’t changed about him at all since the serum (he remembered stroking himself off, fingers deep inside himself and one hand around his cock, and hearing himself make that same noise as he bit himself against it, and throbbed with humiliated need and the desperate hope that no one had heard).  He didn’t often think about that sort of thing in bed, but the thought just came to him and lingered for a while, because maybe that meant Tony would have enjoyed Steve in his other body, too, just like this, and that thought made something throb so beautifully and so painfully in his chest that his breath caught and his eyes stung and he almost fell forward onto his crossed arms to bury his face in them, just barely managing to keep himself up.  And Tony just praised him; “Good boy,” he said, “good boy, good boy, Steve, so good for me, so, so good for me, cupcake.”

It all seemed to happen more quickly then, time sliding into a soft, easy meld, a mash that settled around him, things slipping and sliding into each other, and all of it felt cushioned around him, warm and good.  Tony slipped his fingers out of Steve, and Steve thought oh, yeah, he was very wet with lube, as he felt air chill on his hole, and then Tony’s cock was there, warm on his hole, the head hot and thick, and he bore down and Tony gasped, moaned, said, “Oh, yeah, yeah, oh, Steve, honey, just like that, just like that, stud, so good, opening up for me so beautifully, you’re so good at that,” and it felt so good, so, so good to hear him say that, that Steve moaned a little.  And then he was moving, Tony was moving inside him, and he was hot and hard and thick, stretching Steve out wide around his length and his heat, and Steve’s thighs trembled, and he fell to his forearms, locked them against the bed, let his head hang down forward between them. Tony ran his hand up and down the broad slope of Steve’s shaking back, along his spine, and he shivered it felt so good, and then Tony was fucking him.  He swayed with each thrust, the clamps on his tits swinging and sore and his tits numb yet throbbing, and Tony hit his prostate and it was so good, all so good, his prostate tender and almost sore but the pleasure still arching through him, high and sweet and all-encompassing, his whole body prickling, and it was so good, every time.

He knew he didn’t need a hand on his cock to come, but he didn’t even really think about it, think that thought; it was just an awareness he had, all through him without conscious thought.  But at the same time he never wanted this to end; he wanted Tony to just—just use him, fuck him until he came inside of him, heedless of Steve’s own peak, and Steve could feel his come dripping out of him, out of the hole Tony had used for his pleasure, and he shivered and gasped just at the thought, his hands clenching into fists against the bed, against the covers.

He wasn’t sure how long it went on for—it felt like a long time, but he always lost track of time like this, when Tony was fucking him, in the perfect pushing pressure of it, the stretch and friction deep inside him, the beautiful pressure as Tony’s cockhead hit his sweet spot, pushed past it, every time, the perfect rocking motion he fell into, Tony’s hand on his hip, on his back, at the back of his neck, Tony’s warmth all around him, over him, the way it felt when he pushed in balls deep and Steve could feel the soft slap of Tony’s balls against his own.  Tony was breathless, very breathless, he always went breathless while he was the one doing the doing to, so to speak, doing the fucking, and he pressed kisses all over Steve’s shoulders, all over his spine, along his welted shoulders, against the sensitive, stinging, prickling skin, and Steve whimpered again, gasped and groaned and felt like the luckiest man alive that he had someone who knew how to give it to him like this, that he had Tony.  This was the best part, God, the best part of all.  His cock ached and throbbed, bobbing desperately between his legs, and any other time he’d have been reaching down for it, but not like this.  It was so perfectly sore, sore and painful and hot and throbbing and needy and oversensitized, and he wanted to be good, so good, so he clenched his fists against the blankets and finally let himself press his head down, his cheek down into them, breathing unsteadily and sloppily into the blankets, mouth wet and drooling.  His mouth always got wet when he was turned on, excited. Tony seemed to think it was hot, the way he’d slobber and gasp while he was being railed, but Steve hadn’t quite lost the desire to hide his face, cover his mouth somehow to hide the embarrassing wetness.

Steve felt himself getting closer and closer—he was sure he’d come before Tony did, he almost always did—but it wasn’t quite enough to tip him over the edge.  Everything felt hot and soft, all through him, his head was a soft, hazy place, and everything felt right and good, every burst of sensation, every swing of the clamps or trickle of sweat, sending him higher, firing in his brain like pleasure, even as his cock ached and throbbed and he gasped with need with every thrust of Tony inside him, every rock of his hips back onto Tony’s cock.  He stayed there what felt like a long time, teetering on the edge, the plateau, and he just couldn’t seem to get there, couldn’t seem to reach the peak—even though Tony was praising him, constantly, and every word of it sent pleasure arcing through Steve’s body like an electric shock, made him feel warm and good and honey sweet and hazy from the inside out; “Good boy,” he said, “God, Steve, so good, you take it so well, so, so well, yeah, that’s it, that’s it, honey, are you feeling it?  Is that good?”

Steve wanted to say yes, yes, it was so good, it was so, so good, but he couldn’t seem to string words together, or think to speak.  Finally he managed to groan out, “Yes, Tony, please,” his voice a slurring, rasping mess, and he could feel it as Tony moaned with pleasure, felt his cock twitching and hot inside him, because of course Tony always wanted to please him, nothing turned Tony on more than hearing he was doing a good job for Steve.  God, he wanted to please him, he wanted to feel, hear him come, he wanted to make him come with his body, he wanted that so bad.  He felt himself moan, rocked back against Tony’s cock even as it made the weights swing and pull on his tits, made his muscles squeeze down around him, and he was rewarded by the way Tony’s weight came down harder against his back, the way he moaned and rolled his face against Steve’s raw shoulder with a moan of his own.  _Does it feel good, Tony_ , he wanted to ask.  He just wanted it to feel good for him.  Tony was finally letting himself take his own pleasure from him, and that was all Steve wanted to be, the vehicle for that pleasure.  Yeah.  That was what he wanted.

“God, you’re so good,” Tony moaned, mouth hot and wet against Steve’s spine.  “So, so good, sugar, yeah, God, you’re sweet, those inner muscles, the way you clench up on my cock, God, the way you work me, damn, peak human is right, but no, I bet it’s just you, isn’t it, Steve, you’d clench up on me, work me like that, no matter what, serum or no serum, wouldn’t you, you’d work as hard as you could to do it, because you just want to make me feel good that badly, huh, sweetie-pie, huh, peaches?” 

God, how did Tony _know_?  How did he pick stuff like that out of Steve’s head, like he could just see inside?  Did he have some tell, some little shudder or flinch he gave that Tony could see, had already categorized with his genius mind, or was Tony just rambling—but either way, the inside of his head was too soft and too giving right now to even worry about that, it slipped away even as pleasure burned all the way through him that Tony thought it was _just him_ , just _Steve_ , pleasing him like that.  He didn’t even know if that was true, if he could have done that, clenched down or worked himself so easily or naturally inside, before the serum, but it was a good thought, a good thought to think that he could have.  God knew he’d have wanted to just as much.  There was nothing, nothing quite like pleasing Tony with his body, just knowing he was pleasing to Tony that way.

Tony was kissing down his spine, groaning as he thrust into him, his cock still kissing over Steve’s sweet spot with every thrust, but a bit wilder now, harder, and that was what Tony felt like when he was feeling good, getting into it, and that made everything in Steve feel sweet and pleasurable as honey, slow and sticky, like lolling out on his back in the grass on a warm day and feeling the soft spring air on his face.  That was almost better than the heightening pleasure each thrust of Tony’s sent through him, or the pain in his chest, or the prickling sensitivity of his sore rear end every time Tony’s hips thrust up against it.  He felt himself whimpering, his cock leaking, just at that sign of Tony’s pleasure.  The head of it felt so sensitive, wet and achy, and he could feel himself dripping.  Oh, lord, he was so messy, he felt so good, he felt . . . he _felt_ , and nothing else.  Tony kissed the back of his neck, and it was like someone had set off little fireworks all through Steve.  He felt so warm. 

“You’re going to come for me,” Tony murmured, soft against his back.  Steve could feel the soft scratch of his facial hair against his sweat-damp skin.  That was, it had to be, one of the best feelings in the whole world.  “You’re going to come for me, honey, I know I’m going to get you there, yeah, I know what gets you going, sweetheart, I’m right here—” his hands slid up in a long sweep over Steve’s skin from his hips, up over his side, and then they were pressing into his sensitive tits, squeezing where he already felt bruised, and Steve was crying out, tossing his head back, aching as pleasure spread through his whole body, went straight to his cock, from the bruising pain of it.  And then Tony’s fingers squeezed at his nipples, teased over them, and his fingers found the clamps and did something, quick and nimble, and _tugged_ —and the clamps dragged off with a kind of flare, an—an _explosion_ of pain that had Steve crying out, full-voiced, almost a whimper, and bucking up back against Tony, he couldn't help himself, and then Tony fucked into him again, and there was blood rushing back to his nipples, back to his painful, bruised, sore, aching tits, and then Tony’s hands came back, fingertips massaging into the sore flesh, rubbing into the flesh, sliding up toward his nipples like he was milking a goddamn cow, squeezing warm where his nipples were already on fire, tugging at them, and Tony’s cock pushed past his sweet spot and the pleasure surged through Steve, was everywhere inside him, over his skin, every raw, sensitized, desperately firing nerve-ending, and Steve came again without a single touch to his throbbing cock.

The pleasure swept over him and just washed him away.  It was like a white-out.  Steve Rogers didn’t even exist for a few seconds in there, just pleasure.  Pleasure and that beautiful peak that crashed over him like ice breaking away, like coming into the sunlight, like opening his eyes, and Tony was still fucking into him, Steve’s body rocking with each thrust, his head was lolling against the bed, mouth open and wet in the covers, and oh, oh.  His cock was jerking.  He was still coming.  Steve floated away on it again.  There was so much pleasure.  It was so good.  He was coming all over his chest and belly and the bed; he was a mess.  He didn’t care.  That just made it even better.

He just wanted Tony to come, to come inside him . . . to use his body to find his own pleasure, he wanted Tony to come.  Tony pressed his face to his shoulder, and his mouth was wet, his thrusts getting faster and more and more uneven, deep into Steve’s body, sending more and more pleasure fracturing through him every time he slid past Steve’s tender, oversensitive sweet spot and everything shattered into pleasure for him again, pleasure that was quickly gaining a hint of pain.  Tony was panting, and he reached around, his callused hand curling around Steve’s cock, sliding along the messy tip of it, and he tugged at him once, twice, three times, still panting into his back, his mouth wet and hot and soft against Steve’s shoulder blade.

Steve whimpered, still coming, somehow, helplessly, messily, into Tony’s hand, and then, then, finally, he felt as Tony’s hand squeezed and his rhythm stuttered, the way he gasped and groaned out Steve’s name, and he knew Tony was coming, coming inside him, and that knowledge sent a wave of warmth, of warm, all-encompassing pleasure over him, that and the pressure of Tony’s hand on his cock coaxing another throbbing spurt of come out of him, just the thought of it so good Steve was dizzy, heaving, hot with pleasure, even more so as Tony went limp and heavy over him, panting, his hips still working, thrusting his cock inside Steve, and Steve started to feel the messy drip of Tony’s hot come along his cock, down out of his hole.  That made his cock throb in Tony’s hand again, because, God, it was everything he’d wanted.  He could barely think, especially as Tony stilled, then went flat and heavy against his back.  Steve sighed and let himself sink down, let his legs and arms slide out from under him, not caring at all about the messy smears of come wet all over his chest and pelvis and the bed itself.  Tony was stroking him idly with both hands, up over his arms, his back, his shoulders, down his sides.  His backside throbbed, prickling with sweat against raw welts, the pressure of Tony’s pelvis, his thighs.  It felt wonderful.  Steve blinked back overwhelmed wetness out of his eyes and took a long, deep breath.

“Tony?” he said, and it came out of his mouth sounding very, very hazy, thick and hitching in his chest.

“Right here, sweetheart.”  Tony sounded breathless, almost as hazy.  He pressed a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, and he felt it go all the way through him again, a warm wash of sensation that swept over him down to his toes.  He petted lightly at Steve’s side, just above his hip, fingers rubbing into his skin again and again, uncoordinated and soft.  Steve sighed and let his eyes slide closed.

“Tony,” he said again, a soft, contented, sigh, because it was all he could think of to say, couldn’t think of how to express the affection, the love, the gratitude, his satisfaction and fondness and everything else welling up in him any other way.  Tony kissed his shoulder again, the back of his neck, reached up and curled his fingers around Steve’s, sliding their hands together.  His thumb stroked over the back of Steve’s hand where it clasped loosely around it, over his wrist.  Tony’s cock was still inside him, nestled inside his body, warm and very present, and oh, that was good.  Steve tried not to squeeze down on him, knowing he had to be oversensitive, but he couldn’t help the urge just a little, and Tony gasped.  More come trickled out over Steve’s rear, his thighs, and he sighed.

“Mmm, you like that, huh,” Tony murmured against the back of his neck, lips soft and mouth dragging soft and wet along Steve’s nape.  “You like me deep inside you.”

“Yeah,” Steve said blurrily, head hazy and thick, his voice scratchy and rough, hoarse, but to him it felt obvious.  “’Course.  Always.”

Tony dragged in a quick, hard, shaky breath, pressed his face against Steve’s back, between his shoulder blades, so that his forehead pushed into the muscle between Steve’s shoulders as he gasped unsteadily, then his hands came up and both arms squeezed around Steve’s chest in a kind of hug.  “Just glad I can do you justice,” he said, and it came out breathless and scratchy.

Steve blinked, his brain still feeling soft and thick and slow, and licked his lips.  “’Course,” he said again, swallowing against the hoarse words.  “Every time, Shellhead.”  Tony was holding him, and it felt so, so good, his arms around him, his body against his, blanketing him.  Tony’s body was keeping him warm, he thought, and smiled to himself, floating on it.

“God,” Tony breathed.  “If—if you’re sure.  You were so good, baby, so good.”  He pushed himself up enough to press a kiss to the back of Steve’s neck, his ear, his hair, and Steve shivered pleasantly, hid his smile against his arms.  “So, so good,” Tony murmured, lips traveling down Steve’s neck, behind his ear, against his pulse.  He traced his fingers lightly over Steve’s chest, his clavicles, rubbed at his pecs above his nipples, and Steve shuddered, because oh, oh, that was sensitive, felt his cock jerk again, tiredly.  “Couldn’t have asked for better, or for more.  You give it up so beautifully.  You give me everything.  You’re perfect.  Are you sore here?”

The praise felt wonderful, warm and soft, settled in his belly like a glow, but Steve’s mind had caught up on something earlier.  “’Course I’m sure,” he murmured into his arms.  “And ‘course I’m sore.  Wasn’t that the point?  ‘S good though.  I like it.” 

“Oh, well, as long as he _likes_ it,” Tony said, warm and teasing, his voice still a little weary, a little thick and blurred and heavy from his own orgasm.  He slid both hands up, curled his fingers in against Steve’s hands and squeezed.  Steve squeezed back, smiling at the gesture.  He liked that.  Tony holding his hands like that.  Rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles.  He liked that a lot.

Tony exhaled heavily, against Steve’s back, the back of Steve’s neck, and then pressed more kisses there, along the slope of his shoulders, and Steve sighed, happily, and closed his eyes against his arms.  He felt so good, so . . . relaxed, so spun out and so soft, so easy, and Tony was lying there and kissing his back, his shoulders, the back of his neck, warm against his body, in his body, and everything felt perfect.  It was a perfect moment, and Steve was just floating in it, and it felt so good.  So, so good.  Neither of them got many of those.  Even the prickling of his sore, raw, sensitized skin, the welts on his backside and shoulders that stung pleasantly, tenderly, under the soft touch of Tony’s careful mouth, the softest brush of his beard and his moustache, the vulnerable way his legs were splayed to let Tony lie between them, the throbbing, tender ache of his cock and the constant achy throb of his chest—all of that only made it even more perfect, kept Steve in that soft sweet space where everything felt good, absolutely everything, and Tony’s warmth, his touch, his kisses, they felt even better.  Steve found himself sighing a little, rubbing himself against the bed despite the slick, sticky cling of the wet covers, just to feel more of everything, the pleasurable twinges of his cock, the pain and tenderness in his pectorals and nipples, the way it stung, just every sensation, the warmth lingering in his skin from the oil, the way the covers felt on his skin, every movement pulling him firmly into his body, keeping him there. 

After what must have been a long while, of just lying there breathing through the soft moments, every one of them feeling soft and full, Tony on top of him, one of Tony’s hands linked around his and carefully tracing the pulse in his wrist in slow, lulling circles, the other linked with Steve’s fingers, both of them breathing lazily, Tony stirred slightly, pushed himself up over Steve, kissed his back again, the back of his neck, the round of his shoulder.  “You didn’t mind that I didn’t get you off from your cock at all?” he asked, one hand coming up to trace over Steve’s shoulder.

“I . . .” it felt like a ludicrous question, but then Steve remembered how desperate he’d felt for a touch to his cock, anything at all, for so long in there.  But then Tony had touched him, he’d milked Steve’s last orgasm out of him for what felt like . . . like _hours_ with his hand on Steve’s cock, drawing it out.  “I came five times,” he finally managed to slur out.

“Yeah, honey pie,” Tony said, hand gently stroking over that shoulder, making Steve shudder at the touch to the still-sensitive, welted skin.  “All without any attention to your cock.”

“You touched me a little,” Steve said.  “You stepped on me with your shoe.  You touched me at the end.”  He rolled onto his side just enough to prop his eyes open, look up at Tony and smile.  “It was good, Tony,” he managed to mumble.  “I liked it.”

Tony’s anxious expression faded, melted into a softly lopsided, almost impossibly fond expression.  “As long as you liked it,” he said again, in a low voice, and leaned in, pressing himself warm and heavy over Steve’s side to press another soft kiss into Steve’s mouth, nipping lightly at his full, wet bottom lip until Steve gasped and clutched at him weakly, desperately, mouth open and wet for Tony.  “You did such a good job,” Tony murmured as he pulled away, pressing a kiss to Steve’s nose, to each of his eyebrows, to his cheekbones, as he pulled away, rubbing gently along Steve’s jaw with his thumb.  “You were . . . you were fantastic, handsome.  I couldn’t have asked for anything better.  Anything more.”  He smiled, a little rueful.  “You made me come so hard.  You were so gorgeous, so wonderful—just watching you, watching you react like that—it feels like a privilege, sugar, and that’s the truth.”

Steve felt himself blush, looked down.  “Tony,” he mumbled.  He knew his ears were red.  He didn’t even know why he was so embarrassed, just that he felt like he was the lucky one, to be with Tony, that Tony was even interested in looking after him like this, in putting him through the floor.  Sometimes he felt selfish to even ask for it.  After all, what did Tony really get out of it?  But Tony said he’d come so hard, so—so that was good.  That was a good thing that Steve had been able to do for him.

Tony’s hands came up and framed his face, and he pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and Steve felt something in him relax, some tight insecurity coiled painfully in his belly loosen and smooth out, as Tony brushed hair back off his forehead and kissed him there again, at his hairline.  “Okay, sweetheart,” he said.  “I’m going to pull out.  I’m sorry.  You ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve mumbled.  He felt a pang of loss even before Tony shifted his weight, but he knew he couldn’t stay there forever.  He still appreciated the way Tony kissed his shoulder again, wrapped his hand around Steve’s arm at his elbow, as he moved back and the warmth of him inside left Steve, pulling out of his wet hole with a soft noise and a sense of sudden emptiness and a few trickles of Tony’s come.  Tony’s thumb brushed over him there a moment later, and Steve gasped, wished he’d put his fingers inside, stroke him where he was wet and dripping, push them deep and stop him up, tease him, but Tony just stroked gently over the wet, tender rim.

“I’d finger you a little, but I don’t want this oil getting in there, sweetheart,” Tony said after a moment, “and it’s all over my fingers right now.”

“I can take it,” Steve gasped.

“I know you can,” Tony said, sounding rueful again.  “ _That_ isn’t in question, stud.”  He kissed Steve’s shoulder again, smoothed his hair back, and Steve sighed, thought about how he felt seeing Tony’s thighs covered in bruises, even when Tony would rock his fingers into them and sigh, eyes going heavy-lidded like that was the hottest thing ever invented, the twinge of guilt he always felt deep in his stomach, and he let Tony push his thumb in against his hole, fuck him in and out a few times with it, rough and heavy against his tender, pouty rim, and was content with that, even as only that much had him gasping and squirming with heady, almost too much sensation.

His legs felt weak, when Tony got him up to his feet, and he leaned on Tony, let himself, let himself moan.  “I like the bed,” he said hazily.  “I can just lay here.”  Honestly he didn’t even mind the come covering him, but he knew Tony would never stand for that.  “Get me a towel or something.”

“Honey, the bed is filthy, and you’re covered in welts and oil that’s going to work into your skin, and—no, I’m getting you cleaned up.  You need a shower.”  Tony’s voice was implacable, even as he slid his arms around Steve’s waist, kissed his temple.

Steve figured it would probably be unforgivably whiny for Captain America to complain about how far away the bathroom was, but, by God, he felt like it was the Pyrenees all over again.  He sighed and pressed his face closer into Tony’s shoulder, let Tony’s hand come up and stroke at his short hair, tousling it gently, stroking evenly.  He let Tony stroke his hair, soothing and gentle and slow, until his mind was nothing but a soft haze, and he followed automatically when Tony lifted his face with one hand, pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, which fell open just for him, then squeezed the back of his neck gently and slid his arm around Steve’s waist, pushing him gently in the direction of the bathroom.  His feet felt heavy, his legs wobbly and liquid, but Tony was guiding him, and then they were there, and Tony kissed the back of his neck again and he was somehow inside Tony’s big walk-in shower, sitting on the bench, as Tony fiddled with the spray.  He leaned back against the wall, but the smooth onyx surface was uncomfortably cool and present on his sore, welted shoulders, and he winced, rounded one shoulder and leaned forward again, only to feel Tony’s sympathetic gaze on him.

“I,” Steve said, with all the distinct diction and firmness he could manage right then, “wanted it.  The welts.  I wanted them.”

Tony bit the inside of his cheek, Steve could tell.  “I know,” he said, “and you were so good for them, too, sweet stuff, for me,” and at least gave Steve a quick smile before he got back to work.

A moment later the spray was on, hot and filling the space with steam immediately, just how Steve liked it, almost too hot to stand it.  Tony was already turning pink, which was adorable.  Steve gave Tony an appreciative look, belatedly realizing Tony had stripped off at some point and was finally naked—the lush muscles of his strong thighs, the high, beautiful curve of his rear end, the sleek strength of his shoulders and back and chest, the way his pretty cock hung between his legs.  Tony saw him looking, because he grinned and raised his hands above his head, stretching them back and shaking his hips and rear in a way that made Steve swallow a little convulsively.

“Like what you see, big fella?” he teased.

“You know I do,” Steve breathed, fighting the urge to just sink to his knees in front of Tony, press his face to his thigh, wrap his arms around his hips and thighs, maybe suck his cock, if Tony wanted him to.  Tony pranced back over, shaking his hips and all, and gripped Steve’s hands in his own, smiling down at him, running his thumbs over the backs of his hands, before he pulled him up.  Steve just let him, let Tony slide his hands under his wrists and brace him, use all that strength to help lever him up to his feet, watching the flex of Tony’s muscles with dreamy appreciation.

“Well, the feeling is very mutual, hot stuff,” Tony said with the kind of warm, glowing, genuine appreciation that made Steve go hot down to his toes, hands still on Steve’s forearms to steady him, and then got him under the spray.

It was hard to think about anything else once he was under the water.  It beat down on his shoulders and chest and rear with a kind of burning intensity, flaring all his soreness and raw skin into immediate, throbbing pain, but a kind of pain that felt good, cleansing and perfect.  He wavered, gasped, must have, because Tony pressed another kiss to his temple, to the side of his mouth where it hung open, wet and slack, even as his hands came up to slide gently over Steve’s shoulders, and he murmured, “I’ve gotcha, stud, I’ve gotcha." 

Steve swallowed hard, eyes suddenly stinging, feeling utterly overcome by those soft words, the heat of the water, the feeling of Tony’s hands on him, his soft kisses.  Tony pressed another soft kiss to his cheekbone, his jaw, the side of his nose, and then he was washing him, and Steve—he must have just fuzzed out, somehow.  Tony’s hands on him, Tony’s kisses, the way it felt—painful, yes, but painfully, brightly, excoriatingly good, too—as Tony sudsed up his back with soap, dabbing very gently at it with a washcloth, rinsing him thoroughly, back and front, no doubt the get the oil off, very, very gentle around his nipples, though at one point he did thumb gently at one until Steve was crying out, then lean in and close his mouth around it, tonguing and sucking at it until Steve had both hands tangled in Tony’s wet hair and was panting for breaths, then moved away and started washing him down again.  He felt warm, inside and out, and the water was hot, the room steamy.  Tony’s hands were so gentle.  Steve let him wash him down, rinse him off with one of the hand-held sprayers, do the whole thing again, then, when Tony ran his hands, wet with Tony’s shampoo that smelled like sandalwood and limes, up into his hair, he sighed and sank down to his knees the way he’d wanted to do the whole time, swayed forward and let his face rest against Tony’s chest.

“Sweetheart,” Tony said, sounding startled.  “Steve, sugar, what—”

Steve shook his head, rested his hands on Tony’s hips, just for a moment, then just wrapped his arms around him, tracing his palms warm over Tony’s skin, the slenderness of his hips, the fullness of his rear, up over the small of his back.

Tony’s hands came down, sudsy with shampoo, and tilted his face up gently, framing it as Steve looked up at him.  His thumb brushed suds over Steve’s cheek as it caressed him in a gentle circle, and he tasted it as he swiped it across Steve’s bottom lip.  Tony smiled down at him, and everything in Steve felt right.

“Okay, big guy,” Tony murmured.  “Yeah, you kneel for me, huh?  That’s it.”  He smiled so softly there was no sting in it at all, nothing demeaning, when he said, “Love you on your knees, my big piece of apple pie.  You’re so sweet.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispered, and Tony’s eyes filled, with liquid emotion, with fondness, with love.

“My pleasure, big fella,” he murmured, and his voice sounded hoarse, and then his hands were back in Steve’s hair, massaging shampoo into them, and Steve sighed, let his eyes slide closed, let his head rest in Tony’s hands as he rubbed them through his hair, over his scalp, over the back of his neck, massaging in the shampoo, then rinsing it out.  There was some kind of conditioner, or something, next, but Steve didn’t argue, just let Tony do his thing.  Everything was a pleasant haze.  Tony was the only solid thing in the world, Tony under his hands, Tony’s hands in his hair.

Steve was still in that same pleasant haze as Tony coaxed him back up to his feet, rubbing his thumb along his mouth as he did, his bottom lip, crooking it gently between them for just a few moments, rinsed off his backside, his buttocks, nudged Steve into gripping the sore skin with a gasp and spreading himself so Tony could rinse off his crack, into the sensitive skin of his hole, rubbing at him with two fingers, opening him on them just enough that Tony could push them inside and rinse him out a little, spreading the water inside with his fingers and not the spray itself, murmuring softly to him all the while, praising him, until the very humiliation of the cleaning had Steve feeling even more dizzy and good, hazy and bright and wonderful.

Tony was still talking to him as he led him out of the shower, and Steve just let it wash over him.  It was all praise, sweet wonderful things about how well Steve had done, how good he was—how good he was at holding still, every little thing he did, and all of it made him feel so good, made inexpressible fondness and warmth well up within him for Tony at the same time.  He knew he was smiling at him, probably stupidly, dopey, as he rested his hands on Tony’s shoulders and Tony dried him off with one of his big, huge, soft as anything fluffy white towels, gentle, so gentle, over his back and his buttocks, before he had him lie down on it, spread out over the floor.  The floor of Tony’s bathroom was heated, so Steve lay down on the towel willingly and let himself just enjoy it, the warmth of the floor under him, the pleasure of being prone, the pricking throb of his pecs against the towel, the gentle way Tony cleaned the welts on his shoulders and back and spread ointment over them.  He would have put gauze, too, and taped them up, like a battle wound, but Steve laid a hand on his wrist, smiled up at him and shook his head, and Tony just grinned ruefully and put the gauze away again.

“Your wish is my command, o Captain, my Captain,” he said, and kissed the back of Steve’s head, and Steve hid his suddenly bashful smile in the towel.

He felt too heavy, too soft and uncoordinated, his limbs like they weighed about a million pounds each, to pick himself up after that, but somehow Tony managed to get him on his feet, managed to coax him to put one foot in front of the other—giving him another kiss helped with that, fingers curled in Steve’s hair at the back of his neck as he tugged Steve lightly in toward him—and then Steve was in the other room again, and Tony was pulling a pair of loose pajama bottoms up over his feet, his legs, his sore rear.  “No undies for you right now,” Tony said, smiling, “take it easy on your poor ass and freeball it, okay, stallion?”  There was a pajama top a moment later, Tony buttoning it up.

“Thank you,” Steve said, feeling slow and stupid, barely catching up.  “I—I mean, thank you for all of this.  Tony, I—sweetheart—”

Tony smiled at him, his eyes full.  “Don’t you start, sunshine boy,” he said.  “I did all of this for you out of the goodness of my heart.”

Steve felt himself go warm and probably red, couldn’t help his smile in return.  “I’m really grateful,” he said.  “Sir.”

Tony grinned.  “You’re welcome, soldier,” he said, and then took Steve’s elbow and led him over to the sofa.  Steve blinked at it, almost disoriented, because it looked like—a bed?  Oh.  Tony had made up his wide pullout sofa with sheets and pillows and blankets.  It looked—so inviting, oh God.  “Lie down, sweetheart,” Tony said.  “I just have to strip the bed, it won’t take long.  I’ll be here with you in another moment, I promise.”

“Miss you,” Steve said.  He let himself grab at Tony’s wrist, hold him, rub gently against the bone of it.  He swallowed, made himself say it aloud.  “I—want you.”

“I know, peaches,” Tony said, voice low and gravelly, and his lips pressed a gentle kiss against the spot behind Steve’s ear.  “I know.  Lie down; I’ll be with you in another second.”

“Promise?” Steve said, managing to smile at him, and Tony’s answering smile was so warm and soft.

“Promise,” he said, and so Steve let himself fall into the soft nest of pillows and blankets that covered the sofa-turned-bed, grab a pillow and curl himself around it.  He could feel the shivers starting, now that Tony wasn’t there to touch him, but the blankets were warm and soft on sensitive skin, and the pillow in his arms was anchoring, and it all smelled like Tony, so he was still hazy sweet when Tony slid behind him and put his hand on his arm, pulling Steve back enough that he twisted around and smiled up at him, and Tony smiled back and kissed him, lightly.  “Promised I wouldn’t be long,” he said.

“Good to see you, Shellhead,” Steve managed to murmur, and Tony laughed, and took him up in his arms.

“I’ve got some water for you,” he said.  “And a few snacks.  I thought I’d hand feed you.  How does that sound?”

“Anything you want,” Steve said, dreamily, still smiling up at him.  Tony was the best thing, he thought.  The best, most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.  “Anything at all.”

“I know, honey,” Tony said, and the way his eyes creased, crinkled up, spoke of emotion, like the way he swallowed, hard, smiled crooked and a little tremulous.  Steve shook his head, curled his hand at the back of Tony’s neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.

“Not like that,” he managed against Tony’s lips, not quite pulling away.  “I love you.  This was perfect.  Thank you.”

“You were perfect,” Tony said, eyes worshipful where they were fixed on Steve’s face, as he massaged his jaw gently with the backs of his fingers.  “The best.  You’re welcome, sugar cookie.  Any time.”  And then he smiled and said, “I love you, too.  You know,” and the warmth that broke through Steve was like the sun rising.

“Yeah,” he said, and smiled back, and smiled, and smiled.  “I know.”


End file.
